


Dark Enchantments

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [47]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Anal Sex, Circus, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Memories, Memory Alteration, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-07-13 02:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16008545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Dark Enchantments offers a bit of everything you never knew you needed… Well, Tony has needs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For MCU Kink Bingo Square O5 - Character is a Mutant

****

_Dark Enchantments_ , the pale purple neon sign advertised, blinking fitfully in the mist. The streets were everything that was glitzy and mysterious and a little on the shallow, dark, and filthy side. Exactly the sort of thing that Tony would have loved. Like ten years ago.

Back when dabbling in forbidden tastes and new depravations were like a drug, and everything had to be new, it didn’t need to be safe, or even fun, really. Just new, different, a story to tell. Tony had collected experiences and danger like stamps and then tried to display them in a way that said “here is someone who is willing to do anything, anyone, anything…”

Besides, Dark Enchantments probably wasn’t anything more than a burlesque show that displayed such exotics as bearded ladies, little people strippers, the occasional mutant whose powers were showy, but ultimately harmless. The people who weren’t considered pretty enough to be desirable, but catered to a less socially approved standard.

Exploitive and to some degree, pathetic.

“Really?” Tony said to Carlson, disbelievingly. “Innotech wants to get into bed with Stark Industries, is that the message I’m supposed to be getting, here?”

Carlson, whose capacity to be gross was greatly outdone by his capacity for expensive booze, the guy had literally been reeling out of the last bar, just laughed. “The great Tony Stark, afraid of getting his toes wet in a little more exotic waters? Come on, th’ show is fun, you don’t have t’ fuck ‘em.”

The price of admittance was higher than Tony had expected from something like this back-alley carney freak show, and the seats were far cleaner. No questionable, sticky residue. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The posters of the so-called acts were well done, artistic and sexy. If, you know, semi-surrealism was was your kink.

Tony found a seat and summoned the waitress with a practiced tip of his head. “Scotch, neat,” he ordered. “The good stuff. I will know if your bartender tries to pass off the crap, so tell them not to even try it.” Carlson ordered the same, probably under some delusion that it would make Tony like him better or be more sympathetic or whatever the current social engineering pseudo-psychological bullshit was.

“So you’ve seen the show before?” Tony asked, eyes on the stage, brain reducing it to numbers and dimensions and materials and placement of equipment, idly building an exploded blueprint in his mind.

“A few times,” Carlson admitted. “Alex told me, you know, I’m like personally, friends with Alexander Pierce --” Tony scoffed. If Pierce knew this douche’s name, he’d eat the napkin right off this table “-- said it’s top notch for impressing the upper brass. I mean, where else are you gonna hear an actual siren? Don’t worry, there’s a filtering plug over her tank, so she can’t snag you, but you can actually hear… knowledge. See what it is you really want. It’s amazing. And she’s one of the tamer acts. I mean, you got your standard strippers, but the lilith is really flexible. She can bend her legs back so far she can practically lick her own sna-- er, yeah, you get the idea.”

Tony snorted. Whoever had assigned Carlson to be Tony’s keeper while he was negotiating this deal with Innotech had _not_ done their homework. They were still pandering to the Tony of ten years ago, and lot had changed since then.

It probably wasn’t enough of a fuckup to make the deal fall through, but it wasn’t making Tony any more likely to play softball, that was for damn sure.

Tony slumped into the chair a little -- they were surprisingly comfortable -- and waited for the lights to go down. He’d watch the show, endure a few more of Carlson’s crude jokes, and then go back to the executive suite to fire up JARVIS’ anti-espionage protections and go over the contracts again.

He’d had worse evenings, he supposed.

The waitress brought back their drinks. “Only the best for Tony Stark,” she said, with a wink. Her eyes were strangely, almost hypnotic blue. “1964 Glenlivet, from the Winchester Collection. And your chit-- anyone you want, consider it a compliment to your humanities work in the Congolese mercenary camps a few years ago.” She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and her tongue felt weirdly snake-like as it brushed his skin. “The boss is a fan of your work.”

What she put in front of Carlson did not look anything like the glass of twenty-thousand dollar scotch she was swearing it was. Carlson probably couldn’t tell the difference between that and Wild Turkey, honestly. Tony, however, had a more refined palate and if he couldn’t directly identify a rare, practically ancient scotch, he’d be able to mock it for the mere top shelf it undoubtedly was.

Tony tipped a little of the booze into his mouth and let it roll over his tongue. It had a gentle bite and a smokey, almost sweet flavor to the burn, and he let his breath out slowly, savoring it. How the hell did a skin show bar stock this kind of liquor? He raised the glass again in silent toast to the waitress. “My compliments to the boss.”

“We hope you enjoy the show,” she said. Those eyes flickered again. “Let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.” She dipped and took her tray off to serve the others who were slowly filtering in.

The first few acts were standard fare, a funny, exotic costumed lady who appeared to be haunted by a number of licentious dwarves who who hid under her skirts and gave her orgasms at awkward moments. A stripper who pulled back his robes to reveal what seemed to be actual wings, a half dozen or more bloody, weeping stigmata, and a cock that would have possibly made up for the health hazards of being bled upon.

The siren, who was pushed out in her tank. Quite naked, although she was a naked fish, and Tony didn’t quite find that appealing. Her voice, however, was….--- Tony’s brain flickered as if it was going offline, a faulty connection….

It was like watching data scroll across his screen too fast for him to read or absorb, just the occasional flash of something intriguing, tantalizing, important... Groundbreaking connections that were there and then gone before he could understand them. Secrets that would buy anything and everything.

It was the filters, he knew it was. If he could just take the filter off the tank, he’d hear her more clearly, he’d be able to understand, he’d be able to _know_...

The song stopped, and Tony found himself falling back into his seat from where he’d been leaning forward, slowly but surely moving toward her, and oof, okay, that was pretty powerful stuff. He shook his head, trying to get himself fully back online before the next act. He could see, from the corner of his eye, Carlson grinning at him, but he didn’t want to deal with Carson, so he just pretended to be a little more dazed than he actually was. What in the hell did this place have that could possibly follow _that_?

A few more dancers, exotic and weirdly beautiful, like the wildlife from far away lands. Sex and pleasure, perversion and pain, mixed together and sucked through a straw. Carlton put down his chit and disappeared after a lute playing woman with fox ears and a cluster of three tails.

“And for the most discriminating, the rarest tastes of our clients, we give you to this one night only, the Winter’s soldier. Winter will take from you all your pain, give hope to the hopeless, surcease to the sorrowful, joy to the weary. Allow him to come to each of you, in turn, and pull from you the ache of snow from your hearts, then return to the stage and do battle on your behalf.”

They brought him out in a cage.

A beautiful man, with frost in his hair and eyes like a silver, midnight storm, sat in the cage. He was stripped to the waist, showing off a gleaming, icy arm marked with a single star. He didn’t rage at the bindings he was in, but his sorrow was palpable. Being in the room with him was like those terrible Sally Struthers commercials, so heartbreaking that it made Tony want to rage, to fight, and to sob all at the same time.

“Him,” Winter said, and pointed one finger at Tony. “That’s the one.”

Tony blinked, momentarily taken aback. But then he realized that Carlson must have arranged it, before disappearing with the kitsune. He suppressed a sigh and straightened a little in his chair, meeting Winter’s icy gaze with a hint of knowing, cocksure smile. “All right,” he agreed. Winter was beautiful, even through that heavy sorrow.

They let Winter out of his cage and he made a production of stretching, testing long limbs. He was achingly handsome, the perfect edge of a frost of glass. “Do you know,” he said, as he approached Tony, “what the greatest pleasure a man can know is?”

“A really good blowjob?” Tony guessed, drawing a smatter of laughter from the rest of the audience.

Winter’s eyes flashed with quick interest, viewing Tony for a moment as a man, and not a mark. “Pleasurable company, good food, good wine, these are all fine things, and we seek many times to drown in them. Intoxicants. A simple touch can do wonders --” he touched Tony’s cheek with that hand, and it was cold, icy. His skin was plucked by it, the frozen, sticky feel of steel under the ice. “--but all these pale besides the one, truest thing. The greatest pleasure known… is ease of pain.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something -- anything -- and stopped at the sensation of ice rushing through his body, through his veins and his muscles and his bones, crawling up his spine into his brain. It should have been painful, it should have been _agonizing_ , but instead it was a relief. It was diving into the pool on a blistering day. It was an icepack covering a throbbing wound. It was a gulp of milk after a heavily-spiced mouthful of chili. It was soothing, it was beautiful, it was _bliss_.

“Oh,” Tony breathed, and couldn’t look away from Winter’s eyes.

It was gone, it was _all gone_. Worry about the contract negotiations. Anger and contempt for Carlson. Frustration over the politics that kept Tony from doing more to help. Fear for those he might not save in time, and the guilt for those he’d already lost. The self-loathing for all the time he’d wasted being a soulless bastard.

All _gone_. For the first time in years, Tony’s mind was clear. His thoughts unclouded by uncertainty. His back unbowed by grief.

He gaped at Winter in shock -- for only an instant, before that was gone as well, and all that was left in its place was a warm acceptance and joy. “What--”

“From the day we are pushed from the womb and placed in this world,” Winter said, “there is pain. We die from a million tiny cuts. Or worse, we don’t. And we become inured to pain. Our own. The pain of others. The millions of screaming voices all around us, every day. Let me take this pain from you, and cast it out.  Allow yourself to be accepted and loved for everything you are, all of your gifts and your bright, warm joy. Will you let me take this burden from you?”

And Winter lowered his mouth toward Tony’s, as if he could bestow a single kiss and give Tony everything he’d ever needed.

Tony should be worried about this, he thought. He should be concerned. He wasn’t. He was filled with calm, with happiness, with gratitude and affection. There was no room for worry, for fear, for suspicion or sorrow. He tipped his chin up and met Winter’s mouth with his own.

It was a warm kiss. Winter’s mouth was soft and mobile, his tongue clever. His hand reached, touched Tony’s cheek, and then lower, and lower, until he was pressing that frozen hand, spread-fingered over Tony’s heart. For just an instant, there was a flash of pain so great that Tony could possibly have imagined icy talons yanking his heart right out of his chest, and then it faded again. “I have you. You’re safe, Tony Stark,” Winter said. “I won’t betray you. Guard this, guard this fragment well.” He murmured in Tony’s ear. “And let me soothe the rest. Come to me, later, if you will. I’m supposed to-- but I’ll protect you. I promise.”

And Winter yanked. The ball of ice and snow that came out of Tony’s chest was huge, a glittering diamond of pain, hard pressed and compacted and beautiful and horrible all at the same time. “Oh, my love, you’re in so much pain,” Winter intoned.

He yanked, struggled with the snowball, until he had it back on stage and the brilliant star on his arm started radiating, like a tiny ember, making the snow melt, driving back the frost. Until there was nothing but wet, hateful steam and a shiver in the air.

And then it was gone.

It was gone, and Tony was... at peace. He looked up at Winter’s face and there were tears streaming down his cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispered, and there was no way anyone could have heard it, but Winter smiled down at him, and Tony sagged back into his chair, feeling calm and relaxed and _empty_ , but in a good way, in the best way.

Winter went through his routine twice more, although neither was as big, or dramatic as Tony’s had been, the few remaining audience members seemed satisfied. Winter collapsed back into his cage, obviously weary. His handler put a rubber bit in his mouth and Winter calmly accepted it, letting them lock him into place like an animal, before they rolled the cage offstage.

The chit on the table appeared to wink up at Tony as he sat there, comfortable, relaxed for the first time in… his entire life, maybe?

What, he wondered, would it be like to touch that bliss more profoundly?

There was a new act coming on the stage, but Tony didn’t register it. He hesitated a moment, then snatched up the chit and went in search of Winter.

The rooms were marked off by smaller versions of the posters, and Winter was all the way in the back, beyond the sounds and smells and miasmas that might be expected in such a place. The glamor was on the stage, this was the payoff.

Winter was in a bathtub, resting all the way up to his chin in bubbles, but when he moved, Tony heard the clink of ice.

“Bucky,” a shorter man was saying, stirring more ice into the bath. “You can’t do this, you know it-- oh, sorry, sir. We weren’t sure to expect you.” The man glared up at Tony like he was some sort of interloper. “His dinner will be in soon. Please feed him, first, if you would?”

The euphoria that Winter had left with him was fading, but slowly, and all he could do was smile fondly at Winter’s helper, grateful that Winter had such stout support. “I’ll see he eats,” Tony agreed.

“G’wan, you punk,” Winter said, shoving at the boy with his flesh hand. “See you in th’ morning.” His accent wasn’t nearly the mystic thing it was on stage, either, and the sharp-eyed glance directed at Tony was decidedly out of place. “You’re a hard man t’ soften, Tony Stark,” he said. “Most people are eager to let go of their pain. You count yours out like a hand of poker.”

Tony shrugged. “I came by it all honestly,” he said. “Seems dishonest to just forget about it. Dishonorable.” He eyed the bath curiously. “Does it hurt you?”

“Not-- not like this. This doesn’t hurt. It’s a blessing to help someone,” Winter said. “Someone who deserves t’ be helped. It’s th’ ones that get addicted to what I can do, and they come to me, all the time, with every little ache and pain. That’s… exhausting. They use me to numb their own evils, and I’m th’ one paying the price for it.”

He swished his arm around in the ice bath. “Helps me, to keep cool, so I don’t rage against the heat of what people’ve done. There’s some bad people that come in here, Mr. Stark, and they make me their sin-eater.”

Tony would be angry about that later, when he wasn’t so blissfully empty, when he could think about that, could think about the kinds of people who refused to accept even the slightest twinge of conscience over their wrongs. He felt it as a little bit of heat in his core, that flared and then died again to an ember. “And you’re so good,” Tony suggested, “that you keep doing that for them anyway.”

“I ain’t,” Winter said. He slowly climbed out of the bath, his skin white and pale and dimpling. Grabbed a robe and wrapped it around himself. “Before I was here, back when-- I used to work for the Families. With a little more omph, I can take those bad memories away, completely. Leave you innocent and blank as a slate. Doesn’t mean you didn’t still do ‘em, but I could make it so the coldest murderer wouldn’t remember a thing. Perfect witness protection. Are they even guilty anymore, if they can’t remember? If I took those memories by force, made them forget? Isn’t that my sin, Mr. Stark?”

“Is it?” Tony considered it, though it was still hard to hold on to negative feelings. “Do you keep those memories yourself? It seems a lot to have to handle.”

There was a double knock at the door and someone pushed a small tray of food inside without looking. The sounds from the corridor were enough, Tony knew what they were probably thinking was happening here, and it would be, Tony thought, if Winter was willing. Tony would love to put his hands on that pale skin, touch his lips to those perfect thighs.

Two sandwiches with limp lettuce and a bag of cool ranch doritos. A mug of shandy beer. A sliced apple. Winter was practically hunched over it in moments, eating ravenously.

Tony watched for a moment, pleased at having fulfilled his promise to Winter’s... handler? Assistant? Friend? At any rate, pleased, even though he hadn’t actually done anything. “I could take you out,” he offered. “If you want more.”

Winter considered the crumbs of his meal, then -- “Yes, I’ll come with you. I have to be back in the morning, but dinner, an evening’s love, it’ll be good. Can you-- I’m a class three, I have to go out on a leash if I’m not with my owner. Are you cleared for that?”

That ember of anger flared again. Died. “I’m cleared,” he admitted. “I don’t like it, though. It’s not fair.” With his anger blunted, it came out as more petulant than furious.

“It’s all right,” Winter said. “It’s just the law. In the US, it’s worse. No leashes, but no guarantee of home, or shelter, people won’t sell to us. We’re free, but--” He fastened on the collar and leash. “It’s a shock job. Low voltage, unless you hit it three times in a row, that’ll take me down. If you need to. Come on, I know a really great place where I can get noodles and pan fried shrimp.” He pulled on pants, a sweater, stepped into shoes. Somehow, Tony would have thought he’d been less gorgeous, dressed, but it didn’t seem to be the case. The clothing clung to him, outlining the muscles and long lines of his body.

Tony let himself look at Winter, let himself enjoy that. Let Winter see that he was enjoying that. “You won’t be in trouble for going out? Your... boss won’t mind?”

Winter shook his head. “He wants you… to want me. He’ll be pleased. And I’ll have some food, and Steve will be pleased. And you can have my company for the night--” He gave Tony a very direct look “--and you can please me.”

Tony grinned. “Square deal,” he agreed, and bounced a little on his toes. “Let’s go, then.”

Winter wrapped his arm around the leash and yanked, like he was the one directing Tony, some overeager irish setter sort of dog, pulling him into darker, more narrow streets until they came to a greasy little shop that smelled like a minor miracle inside. Chicken and vegetables and curries and soft boiled eggs over rice or noodles, served with a variety of pungent, sweet and hot, sauces. Winter ate with gusto, insisted on feeding Tony nibbles of all the different combinations, like they were teenagers on a mall date, leaning close to Tony and gazing at him with adoration.

Every time their server came by, Winter would take her hand and pull a tiny, almost unnoticeable amount of pain from her, but by the end of the evening, her back was unbent, and she was smiling wide and easy.

“Terminal illness,” Winter reported. “I can’t do anything for her, but make it ache a little less. She’ll be gone before the first of the year, probably. But she’s happy. Good family. Loves her grandkids. The oldest, a daughter, will take over the shop.”

“That’s... It’s sad,” Tony said, and actually felt it this time. “It’s good of you to help as much as you can.”

“It’s a little sad. They’ll miss her,” Winter said. He speared a bit of babycorn and teased it at the edge of Tony’s lip. “But they’ll miss her for clean reasons. Because she loves them. And they love her. It’s nice. Come on, you’re skinny as a rake.”

“And you think corn is going to fix that?” Tony rolled his eyes, but ate the little vegetable, and let Winter’s smile warm him from the inside out. “You’re a good person,” Tony said. “You deserve more than--” He waved in the general direction of the club. “--that.”

“I am a bad, _bad_ man,” Winter said, “and I deserve more than that. Tonight, I’ll be happy with just you, though. Can I have that? One night, with you?”

“If that’s what you want,” Tony said, “then that’s what you’ll have. Let’s be happy, tonight.” He fished a slice of steamed carrot out of his noodles and ate it. “Whatever you want.”

“You're what I want,” Winter declared. “Not everything I want or all that I'll want, but right now, this moment. It's you. All for you. Come Tony Stark, show me what you're capable of. Kindness or cruelty. What kind of winter storm are you?”

Tony laughed. “I suspect I’m the kind of storm that you have to be very brave, very foolish, or very lucky to dare.” He shrugged. “I’m trying to do some good in the world, but I don’t know if it matches up to the bad I’ve already done. How many kinds of storm are there?”

“Nah, you’re a kitten,” Winter decided, nuzzling at Tony’s throat. He smelled like five-spice and old sake. Tony settled up the tab, even at the cheap prices, Winter had eaten a lot of food. Where had it all gone? Did he have a portable stomach or what? Maybe the arm was hollow, that would make sense.

Wherever it had gone, he’d obviously needed it, and Tony felt a pleased glow at having been able -- allowed -- to help. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something. Tony left an outrageous tip, and linked his arm through Winter’s. “We’ll need a cab to go back to my suite,” he said. He could summon the company driver, but that seemed too much like giving Carlson and Innotech what they wanted. He didn’t want Winter because of Carlson’s suggested entertainment. He wanted Winter for himself, for the moments of joy they could steal together.

It took a while to get a cab that would accept passage fare for Tony’s _little freak_ , but Winter kept them moving along the streets, under awnings and out of the brief drizzle. He seemed to know a lot of the street vendors and shopkeepers and the kids who were playing some complicated street sport made up of balls and sticks and not hitting each in the face. He bought a prayer at a local temple, and then they finally got into cab and back to Tony’s hotel.

Winter’s eyes were wide with delight as they crossed the glitzy lobby and he gawked as they took the glass elevator all the way up, but then he was blushing by the time they got to Tony’s room. “What a rube I must look,” he said, nudging at Tony a little until Tony had backed him up against the door to press little kisses against his throat.

“It’s perfect,” Tony said, nibbling at Winter’s collarbone. “I get used to it, I forget to notice it, to appreciate it. It’s nice that you do. It’s good.” He reached up to unfasten the collar and toss it aside, smoothing his mouth over the freshly-revealed skin.

“ _You’re_ good,” Winter said, and he let Tony in, lolling his head back and groaning with wanton abandon. There was a little scarring at his throat, from rough hands and tough leather, but he wriggled under Tony’s mouth like nothing had ever felt so good, like he’d never been so pampered. His hands were busy at Tony’s shirt, tugging the tails out of his slacks, then undoing the belt and zippers. “How ‘bout that really good blowjob?” Winter speculated, and then he was on his knees in front of Tony, lipping at the vee of his slacks.

Tony couldn’t help but brush his hand over Winter’s head, feeling the soft silkiness of Winter’s hair. “I thought the plan was to please _you_ ,” he said, but he shuddered when Winter’s warm breath skated over his belly and groin, and his hands shook.

“It won’t please me _less_ ,” Winter decided, “to see you fall apart first.”

There was something Winter was doing, Tony decided, around the hot and wet and silken mouth. A tugging at Tony’s pain, the little ball of ice in his chest, where Winter would intensify it until it was almost physical agony, and then soothe, a drawing up and a letting down, a steely resolve and a velvet cushion to lay on. And through the whole thing, a pressure of tongue, a slither of wet lash, until Tony didn’t know if he was coming or going, and all he could do was cling to the solid reality of the man under his hands.

Tony groaned and gave himself up to it, let Winter push and pull and stroke and twist and tease until Tony was trembling all over, his breath coming in gasps. “Oh, god, oh fuck, I’m-- Fuck, I’m going to--”

Winter made an encouraging noise, his hands busy on Tony’s hips, pulling himself, deep and wet, down on Tony’s cock, the flaps of Tony’s shirt still in his way, Tony’s pants around his thighs. It was messy, sloppy, utterly unromantic, and yet it was the most tender, sweet, and emotional release that Tony’d ever had. He’d been serviced before, but not like this, done for joy, with an ease of pain, and, despite the situation, Tony thought the money and patronage was the very least of it.

“Ah,” Winter gasped as he pulled back, then lapped at Tony’s cockhead, catching the last few drops. “Knew you’d be sweet.”

Tony hand to put a hand on the wall to keep from falling over. “That was, that was phenomenal,” he panted. “I cannot _wait_ to get my hands on you.” He honestly wasn’t sure if he could even do Winter any justice, not with that act to follow. But he was damn well going to try. “Bed’s this way.”

Winter wiped his chin, got to his feet. He was shedding his clothes on the way, stretching out that glorious body. He was utterly shameless, letting Tony look his fill and when Tony stopped to admire, Winter turned a graceful pirotte, letting Tony see all sides of him. “Oh, my god, look at this!” He gawked into the room at the bed; it was a nice sized suite, the bed wasn’t terribly impressive. Somewhat larger than a california king, but heart shaped. Cheesy, the way those things sometimes were at romance destinations. Thick blankets, tons of pillows. Roses and chocolates. All the little touches.

Winter reached out a hand and stroked the comforter, making an enraptured little shiver.

Tony grinned and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll trust it meets your approval, then.”

“No scraped knees tonight,” Winter declared. He hopped onto the bed, practically rolling around on the blanket. He pulled the pillows around, sniffed at a few of them, before building a little fort to prop himself up on, squeezing at them. He cast a heated look over his shoulder at Tony. “Don’t make me get started without you,” he threatened, coy.

Dear _god_ , the mental image. “Very unfair,” Tony complained. “Because I bet that would look spectacular.” He managed to get the shirt off and tossed it to the floor, then shoved off the pants that were still hanging open and loose on his hips. “But I did say something about putting my hands on you.” He crawled onto the bed, wrapping his hand around Winter’s ankle and sliding it upward.

“Yes,” Winter said, and he moved his leg, spreading his thighs a little as Tony caressed him. “Jus’ need your hands on me, warm me right up. That’s what I need, jus’ thaw me right out for a change, please. Please.”

“Are you cold?” Tony wondered. He followed the path of his hand with his mouth, open and wet as he kissed and licked his way up Winter’s thigh and hip, curving toward the stomach. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” He knelt in the cradle of Winter’s thighs and helped himself to the smooth, slightly cool skin spread out beneath him.

Winter was responsive, beautifully so, twitching and squirming under Tony’s touch, shamelessly trying to direct Tony’s mouth and hands where he wanted them. Tony avoided direction for a little while, teasing and tormenting with quick flickers of tongue and careless fingertip brushes, smiling with his every whine of protest or impatient twist.

Winter’s eyes devoured Tony, soft and silver-grey, luminous with wanting, his mouth plump and red and dented a little on the lower lip, as if he bit his mouth regularly. Winter’s hands were in Tony’s hair, eager. When Tony got close to Winter’s cock, he drew Tony up, Tony’s face between his hands, and tasted his mouth. “You’re so perfect,” Winter told him. “Like some delicious, precious thing.” He twined his arms around Tony’s neck and drew him down, his mouth on Winter’s chest.

Tony could feel the heartbeat there, under his lips, strong, but somehow sluggish, like it was working too hard, or too cold. His skin didn’t seem to warm particularly, unless Tony’s hand had just been on it. It wasn’t unpleasantly cold, or clammy, but it was _unusual_.

Tony kissed the spot over Winter’s heart, then flicked his tongue across Winter’s nipple. “Hardly perfect, but I aim to please.” He leaned up to kiss Winter again, that lush mouth opening to him readily. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “What would please you?”

Winter opened his eyes, looked at Tony. “Slow,” he said, “and sweet, and steady. In me. An’--” Winter blushed, didn’t quite avert his gaze, “but…. Call me by my name? Not their name for me, but mine. It’s… it’s Bucky, please, call me that. Just let us be two people, wanting a thing. Can we do that?”

“Bucky,” Tony repeated, and the way Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered made Tony want to kiss them. So he did. “Yeah, we can do that.” He kissed the tip of Bucky’s nose and then slid downward again, nuzzling into every curve of Bucky’s neck and throat, tasting the skin there and relishing the way Bucky’s hands slid over his hair and shoulders. “God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed.

He mouthed his way down over Bucky’s chest, tormenting surprisingly sensitive nipples, sucking until they were pebbled peaks and then flicking over them with tongue and fingers until Bucky was arching into the touch, head thrown back and mouth open in a low, long moan.

His legs wrapped around Tony’s hips, rutting and rubbing himself up against Tony’s thigh, his belly. Bucky was easy, eager, and when Tony found lube and started readying them both, he was graceful in that, too. He wasn’t _warm_ , but he was slick and he squeezed deliciously against Tony’s fingers, moaning in pleasure.

The condom kept him from being too chilly, but Tony found himself pulling the blankets over them, making a little pocket of heat. He pushed Bucky’s thighs back, got himself lined up. And Bucky stared up at him, eyes wide and shining and lip tucked thoroughly in between his teeth. As Tony slid inside, Bucky moved, graceful, easy, rolling his hips to meet, and each stroke seemed to make a little heat between them, like stoking a very stubborn fire.

And god, it was sweet, it was so achingly sweet, the way Bucky looked at him, the way their bodies joined together. Tony was glad he’d already come once, because otherwise he didn’t think he’d be able to last. He kept his pace easy and steady, dropping down to steal kisses, wet and uncoordinated but full of passion. Tony adjusted his balance and worked a hand between them to curl around Bucky’s cock, warm enough to nearly match Tony’s skin.

“I want to heat you up,” Tony said. “I want you to thaw out and taste joy instead of sorrow for a change. I want you to feel good, so good...”

Bucky touched Tony’s face. “I feel you. Right now, I feel you. Slow, that’s… just like that, so sweet for me, so good to me. I want, I want--” Bucky strained upward, pushing into Tony’s fist, fucking back down on Tony’s cock, and then…

It was a rush of heat, from Tony’s mouth against Bucky’s lips, through his veins like fire, and Bucky’s skin went heated and slick under Tony’s hands, sweat suddenly dripping down Bucky’s throat, across his belly, and they were slippery against each other, squirming and wriggling, and almost frictionless. Bucky’s eyes flew open wide and he gasped for breath.

And then he screamed, screamed as he came, spilling liquid heat over Tony’s hand, clenching down on Tony’s body. Gripping him, pulling him in. Like a cold snap, breaking the back of winter, Bucky came, and it seemed forever, or a very very long moment, before he collapsed under Tony, panting for air.

Tony shuddered at the nearly painful squeeze of Bucky’s body around him, and nosed at his jaw. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Bucky shivered, then snuggled into Tony’s heat eagerly. “Never better,” he swore. “Never better.”

“Good.” Tony kissed him again, slow and lingering, and pulled carefully out to curl up at Bucky’s side. “That’s good.”

Bucky kissed his temple, pressing those -- for the moment, warm -- lips against Tony’s skin. “If I thought he’d sell…” Bucky heaved a sigh. “I’ll wake you in the morning, Tony. Sleep. You’re safe.”

Tony hummed and snuggled closer. “Everyone has their price,” he murmured. “At least tell me who he is.”

“WSC Secretary Pierce,” Bucky said. “I’m… very valuable to him. The cost-- you would owe so much more than just a dollar amount. I shouldn’t have said anything. Sleep. Sleep honey.” And then Bucky was humming, some soft, winter sort of lullabye, soothing and safe and pretty, winding sleep around them both like a blanket.

But it was Winter who woke Tony in the morning. Coasting on a wave of leftover euphoria, Tony definitely softballed the deal with Innotech. In the end, he decided, that didn’t matter. What was one tech company, one deal, compared to what Tony had found…

… and then lost, because Winter had been a one night appearance, and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. The name of Winter’s owner, it was like one of those words on the tip of Tony’s tongue. The more he struggled to remember, the further away it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we couldn't just leave this with the ambiguous ending that it originally had, so we're continuing the story. :D (If it's been a while since you read this story, you may want to go back to Chapter 1 and refresh your memory.)
> 
> NOTE: Since the chapters for this fic are twice as long as our usual fic chapters, we're only going to post one chapter a week of this each Sunday (except for Chapter 6, which is a short epilogue and will post along with Chapter 5).

The proprietor of the Dark Enchantments club didn’t know where Winter came from, or who owned him. It had all been arranged through a proxy, and the proprietor had never met or spoke to anyone aside from Winter and Winter’s handler. The man promised to contact Tony immediately if Winter returned to the club, but warned that there were usually months, even years, between appearances.

“You’re not the first patron to fall in love with Winter’s Soldier,” he said.

Tony went back to the U.S. and immediately set the machinery of his empire in motion. Winter had been American, or at least grown up in the U.S., he was sure of it. Tony sent JARVIS spidering down into dozens of databases, searching for any hint, any clue, of a mutant whose talent was paintaking.

Natasha Romanov -- who went by the official title of Personal Assistant, and technically, that was true, although her job description was more like spy and intelligence gathering -- brought him a disappointing report. “The Mutant brotherhood doesn’t even think he exists. He’s not in any databases, on any reports. There aren’t even _whispers_ of rumors. He’s a ghost story.” She snapped her chewing gum at him, mostly because she knew how much that set his teeth on edge. Or maybe it was something even more sinister, because she offered him a piece of gum -- and in her hand was a flash drive.

Startled, Tony glanced up at her face. She looked professionally polite and ultimately disinterested, but the little rectangle in her hand continued to be a flash drive. “Don’t mind if I do,” Tony said, playing along, and palmed the drive. “But I’ll have to save it for later. I’ve got a lunch appointment.” He slipped the drive into his pocket. “Keep looking,” he said, because he didn’t think she’d have been so circumspect without a reason. “He’s not a ghost. I was there.”

“Possibly it’s an elaborate hoax,” she suggested. “Someone with telepathic whammy. I’ll let you know if I turn anything up, but I feel like I’m chasing mist here.”

“I was _there_ ,” Tony insisted, even as he stood up and pulled on his suit jacket to go to his  meeting. He made a show of gathering up his things. “I won’t be back in the office today,” he said as he left. “I’ve got some research to do.”

The lunch meeting was exactly as boring as Tony had expected it to be, but ultimately productive. He led the conversation around to the deal he wanted, and bludgeoned everyone with the numbers until they caved and promised to do what he wanted them to do.

So much for the business end of things. He took himself back home and locked himself into the workshop. Took the thumb drive out of his pocket and turned it over in his fingers contemplatively a few times, but there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about it. It was just a basic thumb drive, the sort you could pick up at any corner store for five bucks.

He considered it for another moment, then plugged it into his most secure network quarantine. “Tell me a ghost story,” he said, clicking on the drive.

The folder opened up with a dossier on one James Buchanan Barnes. The picture that headlined the dossier was so real, the features so well cherished, that Tony wanted to reach in, touch him. Then his eye snagged on a detail: Barnes’ date of mutation was in 1943, which was _impossible_.

The very first mutants hadn’t shown up until the late _seventies_. Not to mention the fact that Barnes didn’t even begin to look like a centenarian, although based on the date listed for his birth, he was over a hundred years old.

Tony scrolled through the files.

Another photograph, this time of Barnes in something that looked vaguely like a torpedo tube. A cryostasis chamber, according to the dossier.

In the _fifties_? Medical science was just starting on the path toward long-term life support, with an eye toward space travel. Tony had certainly never seen a pod like that in any technical paper.   

Who the fuck had made this thing? And managed to keep it secret? And why the hell did _Natasha_ know about it?

Tony stared at the picture, memorizing its tiniest details, before flipping onward. Wherever Winter -- Barnes -- had come from, Tony needed to know who had him _now_.

Slavery wasn’t legal in the United States, hadn’t been since 1865. Mutants, instead, had _patrons_. It was, Tony knew, as good as slavery, or as bad. A mutant wasn’t _owned_. Not exactly. Except it was pretty much the same thing. A mutant sold his abilities -- and not only the ones that came from his mutation -- to the wealthy, for protection. For status.

Mutants weren’t quite considered humans, even if they were acknowledged as sentient. Somewhere above the sort of species that hunters went after with guns, and somewhere below _inalienable human rights_. The Mutant Registration Act in the early ‘80s had made it nearly impossible for them to find work, to become educated, to own property.

A few communes, held by a wealthy sponsor, dotted some of the more inhospitable parts of the country, where a mutant might find family, support, friends.

Barnes’ list of sponsors was as impressively long as it was worrisome.

He’d worked for some of the worst scum of so-called humanity. Mafia bosses and corrupt businessmen, before finally--

\-- coming to rest in the hands of a very powerful Senator. Alexander G. Pierce. The World Security Council’s Secretary.

Who was currently leading the movement in the government for increased restrictions on mutants, for a “watchful eye.” He’d out and out started a bill the previous year that recommended concentration camps (under another name, of course), but it had gotten bogged down in committee.

Tony sat back in his chair abruptly. “Huh.” No surprise that Pierce wanted to be able to put a tighter squeeze on the mutants, and now, no question at all how Pierce managed to sleep at night after a long day of pushing his hateful agenda.

The only question was: how did Tony convince Pierce to sell Barnes’ bond? Tony was on record as a mutant rights supporter. Pierce wasn’t going to want to sell to Tony. Not for anything as simple as money. Tony would have to sell his soul, too, agree to do a complete 180 and support the mutant suppression movement, at the very least.

Dead end.

No. No, it couldn’t be, there _had_ to be a way. “JARVIS,” Tony said sharply. “Dig up whatever we can find on Senator Pierce.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said, his cultured voice like a balm on Tony’s frantic brain. “I’ll begin immediately. Assuming standard protocols in place, and depth of search… I calculate it will take not longer than twelve hours to produce a workable option. Or… less.” JARVIS sounded surprised, which was unusual.  

Tony spun around in his chair to peer up at the nearest camera. “What’d you find?”

“It appears that a sizeable portion of Senator Pierce’s income goes to his ex-wife. Not surprising. What is astonishing is that a portion of _her_ income… goes to a mutant asylum, upstate. The Charles Xavier school for Gifted Youths.”

“You think we can use that?” Tony scrubbed at his face, even as he was pulling up all the information he had on the school.

“Perhaps not directly, sir,” JARVIS said, delicately. “But if I might be so bold as to suggest, who would know the Senator’s weaknesses better? And given the situation, where the Senator’s actions are directly impacting the potential future of such a child-- might be willing to share.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “See what you can do about getting me onto the former Mrs. Pierce’s schedule. And maybe... don’t put it on any of the shared calendars, hm?”

***

Tony eyed the styrofoam cooler where it sat on his bench. “You’re sure it’s been scanned?” he asked for the third time.

“Quite certain, sir,” JARVIS agreed, patient as always.

Sealed with packing tape, it looked like nothing more sinister than one of those Hello Fresh boxes, the sort of thing that people who wanted to cook -- why? -- fresh food but didn't have time to shop or cut vegetables. Pepper had raved about her cooking subscription service a few months back.

In short, it looked like a cooler. Probably filled with fresh, raw ingredients. Tony just couldn't imagine what that had to do with _him_. Or who would send him such a thing. And for that matter, how it got through the mail room and up to his personal door.

Unknown parcels didn't get through the damn door.

It was also unmarked by stamps or postage of any sort. No company logo. Or return address. Which meant someone brought it up. And JARVIS hadn't seen them.

Tony unfolded a pocket knife. “If this explodes and I die,” he told JARVIS, “you’re going to wish you’d scanned it better.” He sliced through the tape around the lid and stepped back quickly. Nothing exploded. No cloud of deadly gas leaked out.

He inched back over to the container and tipped off the lid.

Nothing jumped out at him.

He leaned over and peered into the box.

Inside was a cellophane-wrapped fruit gift basket, surrounded by chunks of what looked like dry ice, a swirl of heavy fog covering the bottom of the box.

Perplexed, Tony lifted the basket out, and tipped the container this way and that. There didn’t seem to be anything else in the box. He waved away the dry ice fog, but no -- nothing else.

He looked back at the basket. It was covered with heavy red cellophane and tied with a silver ribbon. Cautiously, Tony untied the ribbon and pulled away the crinkling plastic. The basket itself was filled with... plums. Nothing else. Just plums, dark purple and rimmed with that frosty sheen. Maybe they were a gift from the ex-Mrs. Pierce. They’d had a very convivial chat.

Tony picked one up and dropped it immediately. “Shit!”

“Sir?” JARVIS said, almost anxiously.

“They’re _frozen_.” Thus the dry ice, he supposed, instead of the usual standard freezer packs. He picked up the plum again. Now that he was expecting the cold, it wasn’t so startling. It looked like a perfectly normal plum.

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted his musing, “there appears to be some writing on the wrapping.”

“What?” Tony put the plum back with the others and picked up the cellophane. Now that JARVIS had pointed it out, he could see it -- very slightly darker red marks on the clear red plastic, almost impossible to see. Even knowing it was there, Tony couldn’t read it. Could barely make out the occasional loop or line.

Tony spread the sheet out on a light table. “Scan and enhance, J.” The table flickered as JARVIS scanned the sheet, and then a holographic representation appeared in the air, the message suddenly leaping to life in front of Tony’s eyes.

_If you need me, eat one. Please stop looking for me before you get us both killed. -Bucky_

Tony stared at it. Read it again. He looked at the plums, then at the note again. “And you’re _absolutely_ sure you have no record of this thing being delivered,” Tony said.

“That is correct, sir.”

Tony picked up the basket and put the whole thing in the freezer of the workshop fridge. Who knew what would happen if they thawed? Then he took one back out and turned it over in his hand, considering. “What do you think will happen if I eat this?” he wondered.

“I couldn’t begin to hazard a guess, sir,” JARVIS said. “One might inquire -- for what purpose do you _need_ Mr. Barnes?”

Tony threw a scowl up at JARVIS’ camera. “I’ve been looking for him for six damn _months_ ,” he said. “I just... I need him.” He glanced around the workshop to make sure everything was secure, and then sank his teeth into the frozen fruit.

At first, he was aware only of the texture, like biting soft-serve ice-cream. Then the taste hit him, potent and rich, sweeter than any plum could possibly have been, and it curled into his mouth, reminiscent of Bucky’s kisses. Like being wrapped up in that cool, but devoted embrace. Like leaving guilt and anger and sorrow behind and seeing only hope. Only joy.

Only love.

Tony savored the taste, clinging to it as long as he could before it started to fade away, and only then took another bite. He ate it slowly, eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation.

Bucky had sent this, knowing Tony was looking for him. Had created this, just for Tony, _thinking_ of Tony.

He wanted Tony to stop looking.

Much as it pained him, Tony had to respect that request.

Tony sucked the last of the juice off the pit, clung to that gentle memory for as long as he could, and then opened his eyes. He couldn’t look for Bucky as long as it put Bucky in danger. So he would have to eliminate the danger. He would have to work even harder for mutant rights.

“JARVIS, contact that school and set up a meeting with the administrator.”

***

The numbers were good, Tony thought. All eight of the neutral or undecided senators would have to vote against the proposed Mutant Citizens Protection bill for the measure to fail, and there were some pretty convincing pork barrel addendums tagged onto it to keep that from happening.

Of course, President Ellis could -- and quite probably would -- veto the measure. But that gave Tony more time to build support. Sometimes the Senate would pass the requisite number of votes to overthrow a veto out of sheer spite. Never underestimate the stubbornness of a grown ass adult who’d been told _you can’t have it_.

He’d come down personally to drum up support, though DC was usually a place he avoided as if it were plague-ridden and the Senate floor was the epicenter. Votes. Promises to build new Stark Industries facilities in Texas and Georgia (of all places, ug) in exchange for hearing him out. That was political talk for _I’m buying that vote, thank you_. It was true, he supposed, to a certain extent, that he certainly would not build facilities in states that considered mutants to be second class citizens, or even barely human at all.

Someone bumped him, hard, as he was leaving the Capitol Building. The stairs were wide, not particularly crowded, and there was no reason why -- aside from the other person paying as little attention to their surroundings as Tony was -- that he should have had a pedestrian collision.

Tony shot the guy a hard glare. “Watch where you’re going,” he advised.

“I was,” the man said. He was barely over five feet tall, skinny as a stick, and wearing an ill-fitting suit. He did not blend in, not in the least. He looked like a child pretending to be an adult. But his voice was deep, thoughtful, and his expression was sharp. “Thirty seconds of your time, Mr. Stark?” He offered Tony a postcard, the brilliant blue letters advertising Winter, One Night Only, against a smaller version of Bucky’s burlesque poster.

Tony did a double-take, having expected the card to be some random propaganda. He snatched it out of the man’s hand and held it up close to his face. It was Bucky. It was _definitely_ Bucky. “Where did you get this? How--” He looked at the man’s face, at those clear blue eyes. He looked... familiar. “Thirty seconds,” he agreed. “Go.”

“My name is Steve Rogers,” he said. “I run an art gallery featuring mutant artists. All our work is done by those who wear invisible chains. I think you’d find the subjects, and their creators… interesting. And we could use a wealthy patron. I set an appointment for you, back of the card. Don’t be late, Mr. Stark.”

Rogers scowled at him, as if making the offer was unpleasant, somehow. Shabby suit, too thin. Rogers was probably a mutant himself. Tony could demand his identification; it was a right that one of Pierce’s anti-mutant laws had passed. They weren’t quite wearing badges on their jackets yet to identify them in the streets, but it was only a matter of time, unless Tony’s countermeasures were passed.

Didn’t mean mutants liked Tony. He was a _homo sapiens_ , just like the rest of Capitol Hill. The enemy.

Tony flipped the card over, saw the date and time written in a small, neat hand. If Rogers were an ordinary gallery owner, Tony would have ignored him. Even with the mutant connection, Tony would have told him how to get in touch with the mutant aid foundation that Tony had founded.

But Rogers had brought Tony this card, this _particular_ card, with Bucky’s face on it, and Tony knew he would do whatever he had to do to make this appointment. He looked up to tell Rogers that he’d be there -- but the man was gone.

Well, that wasn’t the slightest bit creepy.

Bucky stared up at him from the card, eyes that shade of blue like sun glinting off snow, almost silver. One night, he thought, with a surge of irrational grief. It had been one night, and there was some small part of him that thought he shouldn’t miss Bucky so much, not after most of a year. It had only been one night; but he just couldn’t seem to let it go.

***

There were a lot of things Tony might have expected from a clandestine meeting with an “art dealer” who accosted him on the streets. It could have possibly been a kidnapping or blackmailing set up -- in which case, Tony still willingly walked into it, wary, but hopeful. It could have been extortion, or a plea for money, or even -- although the chances of that were slender -- a coincidence.

What he wasn’t expecting was to be greeted by Natasha Romanov, who’d left her job as his personal assistant four months ago. “Tea, Mr. Stark?” She gave him a sly glance. She knew damn well that he didn’t drink tea.

“What the hell are you doing here?” That chance of it being coincidence was shrinking down to microscopic size. Who were these people? “Who are you people?”

“For the moment, I live here,” Natasha said. “That’s a no on tea?”

“Got any coffee?” Tony shot back, mostly to be petty but also because he was beginning to think he needed some extra caffeine for... whatever this was. “Or something stronger, maybe.”

“I have vodka,” she offered. “It’s not what you’re used to, I know. I wasn’t made aware of the change in plans until this morning. I’ve been out of the country. I’d apologize, but I’m not really sorry.”

Tony was tempted, but he had a feeling he’d need all his wits about him for this. “Maybe later,” he said. “And which plans are those?”

“Bringing you in,” she said. “My recommendation has been to keep you out. Stark Industries, yes, Stark politics, yes. Tony Stark? Not recommended. You’re too flashy, too much in the public eye. You’ve been a wild card and a risk from the start.”

She sat down on a comfortable looking sofa; the art gallery -- and it really was an art gallery -- was set up with several little faux rooms, so a potential buyer could imagine what the art would look like on the wall. “Things have changed. You’ve been a pawn for both sides, pushed back and forth on the board. Congratulations, I’m mixing my metaphors, but it looks like you just got crowned King.”

Tony crossed his arms and lifted his eyebrows at her. He wondered who had made the decision to bring him in, if she’d been panning him. That was the person he wanted to talk to, really. “King or Queen, checkers or chess, the piece that makes it to the back of the board becomes much more powerful,” he pointed out. “Am I about to suddenly be able to move in ways I was never able to, before?”

“We certainly hope so, Mr. Stark,” she said. “All our lives might depend on it. If you’re willing to get your hands dirty, to compromise your stand on mutant rights. You’ll buy us a very valuable commodity, and you’ll be well compensated for it.”

“ _Compromise my--_ Yeah, no, that’s bullshit. I think my position on mutants is perfectly clear. I don’t know what kind of half-assed excuse you’ve got to sell me, but you can stop right there.”

“Have you heard anything about Project Insight? I know Stark Industries was contracted for the repulsor technology. Do you know how many people are going to die? Mutants, no matter what, are still _people_.”

“Die? No one’s dying; Insight is an _airship_. Thus, you know, the repulsor work.” Tony was fuming. He’d _liked_ Natasha. To find out that she was apparently some sort of anti-mutant crusader was appalling.

“A heavily armed airship with long range rail guns and the most sophisticated tracking system known to man. Also, _someone_ managed to get their hands on Registration. Once those airships launch, they’re satellite-linked and fully independent. Over seven hundred thousand mutants will die in the first ten minutes. A lot of people will take the fall for the attack. Undoubtedly, you will be one of them. However, the mutant problem will be _solved_. There won’t be any left,” Natasha said. She tapped her wrist and a solid light projection of the helicarriers appeared over the coffee table. They were bristling with guns that certainly hadn’t been in the project specs when Tony had seen them.

Tony hesitated, looking at that diagram. He didn’t doubt that there were powerful segments of the government and private sector that would be happy to do away with every last mutant in one fell swoop. Minus, of course, a few particularly useful and cowed individuals. There were even more people who would never condone such an act -- but who wouldn’t raise more than a token protest in the wake of it actually happening.

But the _scope_ of the thing was... “How the hell can they _target_ that many people? It’s beyond-- Innotech,” he breathed in sudden understanding.

“Give the man a gold star,” another voice said, and Tony whirled to see Steve Rogers. “You really should have taken the vodka. I know this is a shock. I didn’t want to bring you in at all. I don’t like it. I’m not sure I like _you_. I mean, I’ve seen the footage. You’re flashy and loud. And you may well be our only damn hope.”

“Hope for _what?_ ” Tony demanded. “Compromising my principles doesn’t kill them off any faster.”

“We need _time_ ,” Steve said. “There are-- let’s just say there’s division in the ranks of the enemy. If the mutant protections act passes, the more aggressive arm will launch Insight. Two weeks from now, there’ll be a smoking crater in parts of the midwest, and everyone will be in shock. A month from now, there will be protests and memorials. And by this time next year, mostly everyone will agree that it was for the best.”

“If the MCP fails, cooler heads prevail, for a while. The mutants will protest, there’ll be violence and riots. People will get hurt. There’ll be news stories and cautions. Curfews and stricter penalties. Popular sentiment will turn against mutants. Insight won’t be needed, and the politicians will hold off on using it to save themselves the initial popularity setback.” Nat explained, gesturing emphatically. “It sucks. No one likes it. But it will give us time. We won’t have rights, but we’ll be _alive_. As long as there is life, there is hope.”

“We?” Tony looked back at Natasha.

“Quite a while ago, I did a very powerful person a favor,” she said, simply. “Something they couldn’t have done on their own. In exchange, they removed me from the Register. You’re the only human in the room, Mr. Stark.”

“And you want me to _agree_ with that instead of arguing that mutants _are_ humans.” Tony rubbed at his temple and looked at the projection of the helicarrier again. “Because otherwise we’ll all die.” He took a breath, held it until his lungs ached for release, and let it all out in a burst. “I’m listening. I want some proof, and I’d like to know exactly what it is you think I can do to turn the tide.”

“Well, first off, you get what you want,” Steve said, looking disgusted. “We need to get Bucky away from Pierce.”

“He’s been Pierce’s sin-eater for almost forty years,” Nat said. “And he remembers everything. Having him… we get a foothold into Hydra’s inner circle. We can use his information to slip someone inside.”

“They used him against you,” Steve said. “Innotech, I mean. They wanted your genetic programming code. That was a set-up from the beginning. You’re in deep, Stark, and you didn’t even know it.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. “You were there,” he said, suddenly realizing why the man looked familiar. “You were with him. Why were you there?”

“I get odd jobs, wherever Buck’s going to be,” Steve said. “He’s my best friend. I try to take care of him, as best I can. I… my mutation. Don’t laugh. It’s luck. I’m lucky. I get the job, I sneak by the cops, I run into you on the very day I happen to be carrying one of Buck’s postcards. Right now, I’m in DC because Buck is in DC.”

“He’s here?” Tony resisted the urge to look around. Bucky wasn’t in the room, or even in the gallery, and Tony was letting himself get distracted, damn it. He firmed his jaw. “Sounds like a damned handy mutation to have, if you ask me,” he said. “What’s the game plan, then, Puppetmaster?”

Natasha glanced over at Steve, raising her eyebrow delicately. He nodded. “It’s pretty simple; plans never survive first contact with the enemy. The less complicated we can make this, the better. We have some information for you to make your sudden change of heart more plausible. Go to Pierce, tell him you’re reconsidering, that you’ll drop your support from the Mutant Citizens Protection bill. If he sells you Winter. That’s the most critical part.”

“The rest is up to us. We’ll use Buck’s information to get someone into Hydra; between his information and my luck, we should be able to swing it,” Steve said. “Once we’re on the inside, I hope we can find some weakness on Insight, bring down the project. Bring down Hydra, if we can.”

Tony lifted a hand. “Question. Hydra?”

“That’s what they call themselves,” Steve explained. “Remember Nazis? Hydra’s the crazy offshoot of Hitler’s little dream of the Superior Race.”

“Which obviously can’t be all that superior when there are mutants around obviously outdoing everyone else,” Tony surmised. He grimaced. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at _all_. But he didn’t think he had a choice. “How certain are you that they’ll delay Insight if the MCP fails?”

“Pretty sure,” Natasha said. “Pierce is high in the ranks, and he finds us… useful. He’d rather we were in chains and under the boot. He’s obviously exempted his pets from the list, but he won’t be able to flaunt them anymore.”

“Yeah.” Tony pressed on his eyes until lights flashed in the darkness of his skull, but it didn’t make the sudden tension headache any better. “All right. I’m in. What are these _plausible reasons_ for me to suddenly reverse my decision?”

“I want you to keep in mind,” Natasha said, carefully, “that we know this--”

“He’s not responsible, it wasn’t his fault,” Steve put in.

“-- is going to be a shock.”

Natasha used her wrist-device to pull up another image, what looked like a still-capture of a car on a dark road, crashed into a tree. Tony stared for a moment, then-- he knew that car. He knew _that road_.

“This wasn’t an accident,” Natasha said. “Your parents were assassinated.”

“No,” he said, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from that car. “There was an investigation. He was drunk.”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Steve insisted. “But someone caused that ‘accident.’ Howard Stark was not as intoxicated as the coroner's report indicated. Someone shot out the tire, resulting in the car crash. Your parents were alive. The assassin came down and-- finished the job. Stark was transporting a briefcase; that case wasn’t found at the scene. The assassin took it.”

“The footage is upsetting,” Natasha said.

“Let me see,” Tony said. Something cold and unpleasant turned over in his stomach, slithering against his innards.

Natasha sighed. “Mission Report, December 1991.” She pushed a button on her device, and the film started.

Black and white, the image was grainy; a closed circuit camera, probably motion triggered. A flash of light and the car went from speeding along the road, smooth and even, to jerking back and forth across the road, coming to an abrupt stop when it drifted off the road and slammed into a tree.

A moment later, the door opened and Howard Stark staggered out. His forehead was bleeding and he wobbled on his feet, but he wasn’t dead. The report had said his neck broke in the crash. He turned back to the car, talking -- telling Tony’s mother something.

A motorcycle drove up, and Howard went to flag it down.

The rider grabbed Howard, dragged him back to the car and forced him in. Smashed Howard’s head against the steering wheel. Went around the side of the car, reached in the shattered passenger side window.

“The angle is bad,” Natasha said, “but we believe the assassin strangled your mother.”

In the film, the assassin finished the wetwork. He opened the trunk and removed a briefcase. Closed the trunk. Looked up, as if he somehow knew where the camera was.

The assassin walked closer. Drew a gun and shot out the camera. In the instant just before the film ended, Tony could see the man’s face. Emotionless, cold. Beautiful.

_Bucky_ had killed Tony’s parents.

That twisting, cold thing slid up into Tony’s throat, choking him. It was surreal to take a breath and have his lungs fill so easily. “Who knows?” It came out icy and flat and furious. All that pain and grief and guilt and anger, wasted on the wrong damn person. And Tony had... had _slept_ with the man. _Fallen in love_. How hard had Innotech’s management laughed, when they’d set that up?

Steve licked at his lips nervously. “Pierce lends him out, sometimes,” he said. “We don’t know, for sure. We’ve got some notes on a Slovenian, Helmut Zemo, from that time period. And a Russian, Karpov. Might have been either of them. Or Pierce might have set it up. Look, Mr. Stark… Buck _didn’t have a choice_.”

“You keep saying that,” Tony snapped. “You think I haven’t heard the ‘following orders’ excuse before? He _killed my parents_ , Rogers. And then he ate the sins of whoever ordered it so they didn’t even have to feel it. _My parents died and no one even felt it._ ”

“There’s a device,” Natasha said. “Based off the chemistry involved in a certain mutant’s talents. It clears the memory, erases the persona. It is not a painless process, and when it’s over, the person is entirely susceptible. He will become anyone they want him to be, will do whatever he’s told. The perfect weapon. The perfect killer. They meant for it to be of more general usage. Fortunately, the Chair only works on one person. They can’t make their little army of perfectly obedient soldiers. Just one. The things he did, those were his hands, but it wasn’t _him_. They can’t even use it on him, anymore. His mind comes back, faster every time. An day or two is all they can hold him for, now.”

Tony closed his eyes. “It was my _mom_.” They were right, damn them. Armed with this knowledge, Tony had the perfect motive for reversing his stance on mutant rights. And he had the perfect motive for demanding that Pierce sell him Bucky.

If there was one thing Pierce would understand and believe, it was _revenge_.

“I can’t-- I’m going. I need to, to think. I need...” Tony shook his head violently, unable to even look at them as he strode out of the dimly-lit gallery as fast as his legs would carry him.

He may have made it to the back of the board, but he was still just a pawn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some smuts in this chapter, but a lot happens before that -- once things start getting steamy, smut-averse readers can stop; there's not anything plotworthy after that point. :D

Alexander Pierce wore the fading remains of his youthful vigor and beauty with grace. Still rugged, outdoorsy-looking, despite the fact that the man had been pushing a desk job for decades, he had a square jaw, steel-blue eyes, and purposefully tousled blond hair going gray at the temples.

A reputed ladies’ man in his younger years, Pierce had traded bed favors and blackmail, ending up in one of the highest positions of power in the world. Now, seated in a leather chair, near the fireplace of his personal home, he greeted Tony with a cheerfully raised glass of fine scotch. “Mr. Stark,” he said, “or, can I call you Tony? I confess, I never expected to see you in my home. Come in, have a drink. Sit.”

Tony accepted the offered drink, but barely wet his lips with it. “Please, do call me Tony,” he said. “I know we’ve been working at cross purposes, these past months, but I hope you’ll be willing to listen to what I’m here to say.”

“Tony, then,” Pierce said. “You can call me Alex, if you like. And I’m more than willing to listen -- my mentor once told me to keep my friends close, but my enemies closer. I’ve not yet put you in a category, but in either case, you’re welcome in my home, and encouraged to share your wisdom.”

Tony smiled thinly and toasted Pierce with his glass. “You know, it’s only recently that I’ve thrown my hat into the ring on the mutant rights issue,” he said. “I like to understand an issue from all the sides, before I really jump into it. I’m sure a successful man like you knows what I mean.” He settled back into the comfortable chair Pierce had offered, breathing in the smell of the scotch. “I thought I knew what I was talking about. But it turns out, I was missing some information. I was missing a _lot_ of information.”

“I’ve certainly studied the issue,” Pierce said. “At first, it was merely curiosity, but then, it became a more personal issue, and I was forced to look at it more closely. It really does boil down to a simple question: are mutants human? And if they’re not, then the laws of a human society don’t apply. Scientists, every day, report on the extraordinary behavior of octopuses, dolphins, and gorillas, but we don’t see anyone suggesting that they should be welcomed into our society, protected by our governments. I wonder why that is.”

Tony nodded as if this argument seemed perfectly reasonable, and ignored the cold, squirming thing in his guts. “The more pressing issue, to me, is that mutants’ abilities make them a danger, both to society and themselves,” he said. “If we don’t control the mutant population, then they will be controlled by someone else. Someone with a much darker agenda.” He looked down at his drink, rolled the glass and watched the liquor’s legs trail down the sides. “I’ve recently learned that a mutant killed my parents,” he said, softly, as if imparting a secret that Pierce might not already know.

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Pierce said. “I’m sure that… well, it changes things. It’s one thing to be a supporter for say, a dangerous breed of dog when all you know about is illegal pit fighting, or you’ve seen pictures of people with puppies. It’s truly a different thing, once you’ve been bitten. You have my utmost sympathies for your loss, renewed as it must have been, after all these years.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed. He’d spent _days_ wrestling with what he’d learned, in fact. “Which is why I’m here.”

“Go on,” Pierce said, waving the glass gently in invitation. “I should like to know what I might do for you, how I can help you, in these dark times.”

“Well, Alex, as it happens,” Tony said, “the murderer is part of your household, these days.” He looked up from the glass and gave Pierce a grim smile. “I’d like to buy him from you.”

The corner of Pierce’s mouth twitched, just slightly. His knuckles went white as he gripped his glass. “That’s a dangerous accusation,” he said, as mild as if they were talking about the weather. Maybe even milder. Climate change was still a hot button issue on the senate floor. “For what purpose do you wish to-- because truly, I cannot _sell_ any mutant. They don’t belong to me. That would be illegal. They’re merely in my employ.”

“Of course, of course,” Tony said. “I misspoke. Of course I meant that I simply want to take over his _sponsorship_.” He gave Pierce another one of those thin-lipped smiled. “I just want to make sure that he’s... paying his debt to society.”

“I understand completely,” Pierce said. “Might I know which of my personal servants is, at heart, a murderer?”

“No fault of yours, of course,” Tony murmured. “I understand he’s got quite a talent for hiding his true thoughts.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the printout, grainy as it was, that he’d pulled from Natasha’s video, that glimpse of Bucky’s face. He handed it over to Pierce. “I don’t know his real name,” he lied. “But I recognized the face.”

Pierce shot Tony a cold, calculating look. It was there and gone so quickly that if Tony hadn’t been watching for it so intently, he might have missed it. As it was, he was hard pressed to think he hadn’t imagined it. “Ah, dear James,” Pierce said. Fond, with a touch of sadness. “He always has been troubled. I had suspected, but hoped that I was wrong about how deep that trouble ran.”

He ran a thumb over the printout, as if touching the murderer’s face. “You understand, James is an oddity. And exceptional.” Pierce sucked on his teeth for a moment, then, “Legally, his standing as a citizen is… blurry. Given… the situation as it stands, selling his sponsorship to you isn’t a matter of a simple signature on a piece of paper. And his talents are… well, let’s say I’ll miss his services. I understand your grief and your need to see justice done, but... Well, let’s get down to brass tacks. It’ll cost you.”

Tony straightened up and pasted on his shark’s tooth negotiation smile. “As long as we’re down to brass tacks,” he said, “lay it out for me. What do you want?”

“I think we both know that money is only one way of keeping score,” Pierce said. “I consider myself a winner. But there are other paths. Things that are necessary, that you can’t quite put a dollar figure on. I know you decided to get out of weapons manufacturing. I want… a portion of those developments. You must have them. No one makes weapons like Stark weapons. You couldn’t just… turn it off. You still have ideas, don’t you, Tony? I have a few shell companies that would be interested in developing some of your ideas.”

“I always have ideas,” Tony said, his mind awhirl. He took another miniscule sip of the scotch to give himself a few seconds to think. His weapons, in _Pierce’s_ hands? That was exactly the reason he’d gotten out of the weapons business in the first place. Bad enough the Insight helicarriers had his engines on them; Tony didn’t at all relish the thought of being killed by his own weapons. “Just how big a portion are we talking about?”

Pierce studied his nails. “Let’s say… six. Over the next twelve years. Enough time for the development and delay to seem plausible. We don’t need any miracles making someone curious, do we? And twenty hours of your time, each year, in case we run into any snags. It’ll scarcely be a blip on your radar.”

“Hmm.” Tony considered it. The weapons business was continuing without him anyway. It wouldn’t be too hard to anticipate the next innovations and jump the gun -- so to speak -- a little bit.

It wouldn’t be giving Pierce anything that he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on within six months, anyway.

And with any luck, Rogers and his little cadre of mutants would find a way to make the whole thing moot, anyway.

“I thought I was done with weapons,” Tony said with not-at-all feigned reluctance. “But I suppose it seems fitting to dip back into the trade Dad taught me in order to buy justice for him, doesn’t it?”

“There’s always a little bitterness that goes with the sweet, I find,” Pierce said. “I trust, with this new information, you’ll also be ceasing your support for certain… distasteful initiatives? If so, I’ll have him delivered to you as soon as tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Tony said. “Now that’s it’s been brought home to me just how important it is that we be able to track and control them, I find I’ve been... naive.” He was almost relieved that Pierce hadn’t offered to turn Bucky over immediately. He wasn’t sure he was up to the scrutiny of his reactions.

He wasn’t sure he knew what his reactions would _be_.

He let himself have one good mouthful of Pierce’s excellent scotch, then, and stood up. “You know where to send the package, I trust.” He offered Pierce his hand.

Pierce’s skin was dry, almost reptilian, and he shook Tony’s hand briefly, old fingers squeezing a little tighter than necessary. “I’m glad I am able to bring you some peace of mind. Do let me know if you want to discuss the mutant… dilemma, let’s say, further. I know some people who have fascinating insight into it. We’d certainly welcome your ideas.”

Tony managed not to twitch at the use of the word _insight_ , and let Pierce’s power games with the handshake slide. He needed Pierce to feel powerful and superior. “I’ll give it some thought, once I’ve got my house in order,” he promised.

Pierce gave him a sympathetic smile. “I look forward to continuing our conversation, then.” The man settled back into his chair, staring into the fire as Tony saw himself out.

***

When Tony had said _package_ , he had just been speaking figuratively. He hadn’t quite expected Pierce to take him literally, but here he was, standing in his doorway and taking delivery of a largish crate, accompanied by two burly men in tactical armor. Strike Team Leader Rumlow -- so said the tag and insignia that he wore -- offered Tony a device to thumbprint and sign for. “The boss had him prepped for you,” Rumlow said. “There’s instructions on the use of the cryotube, if you need to use it. He’s got some specialized environmental needs, long term. It’s all in the file. You got it from here, or do you want us to wake him up for you?”

“I’ve got it,” Tony said. “I’m still preparing the... welcome party.” He eyed the device and then pocketed it. “Tell your boss I’ll have the first payment ready for him in, oh, call it six weeks.”

“You got it,” Rumlow said. He thumped the box with his fist a few times. “Have fun.” He dropped a lewd wink in Tony’s direction, beckoned to his accomplice and they went back to their van.

The box wasn’t -- quite -- coffin-shaped.

It was heavier than Tony had anticipated, but he’d been moving engines since he was about fourteen. He knew how to deal with heavy equipment. He took the box down to his workshop and pried the crate open.

Inside was a sarcophagus. Smooth, matte silver in color with a portal window at the top. Bucky lay inside, eyes closed, frost in his eyelashes. His mouth was slightly open, face peaceful. He wasn’t moving. Or even breathing, as far as Tony could tell. His skin was as pale as snow, hair as dark as sable. Snow fucking White, Tony thought, stuck in an enchanted sleep.

He stood there watching Bucky’s unmoving face for several long minutes before shaking himself into motion. He pulled out the device Rumlow had given him and examined it closely. It was almost certainly tagged, and maybe outright tapped. He’d have to destroy it as soon as possible. The sarcophagus-thing, too.

The device wasn’t all that complicated; a simple toggle-switch to start the thaw process. Green digital numbers flashed over the portal’s screen, a timer and vital systems readings. More switches on the side for prepping the chamber for use, and a freeze-lock setting once someone was inside. A child could operate it. Tony shuddered at the thought.

Briefly, Tony thought about calling Rogers and just handing the entire mess over, and trying to forget everything.

But no. He was in too deep, now. He thumbed the toggle and sat back to watch the process.

Bucky woke up about twenty minutes later, as his skin slowly thawed. Beads of condensation prickled at his forehead, ran down his cheeks like tears. His face went slack as he slowly warmed, skin pinking as blood rushed through his veins. His heartbeat was recorded and monitored, slow as an elephant’s, at first, then speeding up.

He opened his eyes, gasped in shock, or in fear, or in pain. It was hard to tell. The door of the sarcophagus opened up and he spilled onto the floor, as limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut. He was wearing a white singlet, but it was as good as useless, soaking wet from the thaw process and nearly see-through.

He gasped again, shivering on the floor, practically groveling at Tony’s feet.

They’d done this to him at least a dozen times, Tony knew. He crouched down so he could look into Bucky’s face. “Welcome back.”

Bucky gagged, coughed, drew a few shivering breaths into lungs that didn’t seem to want to go back to work. He stifled several pained whines, Finally he looked up, those ice blue eyes wide with shock. “... tony?” He stretched out a hand, shaking, as if to touch Tony’s face. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Or wasn’t sure if it was a dream. “Oh, god.”

“You remember me?” Tony said without quite thinking about it. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. This... wasn’t it.

Those blue eyes were so soft. Gentle and caring and blazing with heat. “It’s been some time,” Bucky admitted, “but I… _wanted_ to remember. You were kind. A good man.” He shifted, leaned forward, eyes half-closed, mouth half-open as he reached for Tony.

Part of Tony wanted to just fall into that embrace and forget everything else. “Maybe not as good as you think,” he said. “How much do you remember? How far back?”

Bucky rocked back on his heels, a hint of pained rejection on his face. He swallowed, then when he spoke, his voice was a little harsher. “Some. It’s spotty. I know, I know, I _know_ \--” he stammered “--what they do to me. It’ll come back, eventually. It… I think it will come back. My abilities… they rebuild the neural pathways, no matter how hard maintenance tries to burn them out.” He lowered his eyes to the floor, then looked back up at Tony. “What do you want me to remember, sir?”

Tony’s voice shook, but that was fine. He didn’t need to hide, not now. “December, 1991.”

Bucky closed his eyes, turned his face away. “Ah,” he said. “I understand.” It seemed an effort of will, to turn his chin and meet Tony’s gaze. “I remember.” Tears, unshed, glittered in his eyelashes, his mouth trembled. “I remember them all.”

Something writhed in Tony’s stomach. “Did you know? The last time we met -- did you know you’d killed my parents?”

“I… No.” The tears spilled over, tracking silently down his cheeks. “I didn’t know who they were. Faces and cars. Places to be. A weapon isn’t told why. I’m so, so terribly sorry.”

“I’m sure you are. Who ordered it?” He held up a notecard he’d scrawled on, waiting. _Say you don’t know._ He hadn’t found a listening device, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

“The handler,” Bucky said. “I don’t… know the name. He said _good morning, soldier._ Like I was a real person. He said… _good job_. I don’t know who he was.”

Tony growled a little. “I didn’t think you would, but I have to say I was hoping. Can you stand up?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said. He got to his feet, jaw gritted in pain as he straightened, stood. His shoulders were bowed, in fear or anticipation of a blow.

“He obviously didn’t tell you where you were going,” Tony said. “What _did_ he tell you?”

“...that my work had been a gift to human kind,” Bucky said, slowly. “...and he needed me to do it, one last time. He… was sending me to die.”

Tony shuddered a little. “Come on,” he said, and led the way out of the workshop. When the door had closed behind him, sealing what Tony knew was the best soundproofing that he could devise, he stopped and sagged against the wall, pressing his hands to his face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, hoping it wasn’t too muffled to be heard.

“You won’t be cruel,” Bucky said, as if he was positive that this was true. “A moment of pain, and everything will be over. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Tony lowered his hands to stare at Bucky in disbelief. “You-- Just like that? You’d just... I’m not going to _kill you_ , Jesus _Christ_.”

“The bill always comes due, Tony,” Bucky said. “It’s always been just a matter of time before I have to pay for my sins. It wasn’t my choice, but it was still me. I still did those things. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Do you-- do you want me to take it away? I’ll do that for you. You can forget all about it, like it never happened at all. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Tony scrubbed at his face again. “I did not bargain with Pierce for your life just to throw it away again,” Tony said. “I’m sorry I let you think so, but I didn’t know if he’d bugged the box. But you’re not... It wasn’t you, who did those things. It was _them_ , using you like some kind of remote-control toy. I _know_ that.”

“Doesn’t help, does it?” Bucky asked, mouth tipping up in a wry half-smile. “ _Knowing_. It doesn’t make it any easier. What can I do, to help you?”

“Makes it harder, in fact. If I thought you’d done it of your own free will, I could just... hate you. That would be simpler. Easier. Instead, I’m having to deal with knowing that I...” He shook his head, clenching his teeth on things he couldn’t say. “You’re going to do a lot, actually,” he said instead. “Your friend Steve has all kinds of plans that he doesn’t want to share, just in case I turn out to be just as much of a dick as he thinks I am.”

“I will be of use,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “Steve… the man with a plan. Which does not help _you_.” Bucky reached out again, as if entirely unaware of it, fingers tracing light down the back of Tony’s hand. Tentative, waiting to be rejected. Bucky’s eyes were huge, luminous. Filled with anguish, his entire face reflecting a hopeless longing.

“Why would you?” Tony wondered. “I’m no one to you. At best, a one-night stand.”

Bucky scoffed. “I understand. Why… why _he_ let this happen. What better revenge? Whatever you gave him, to get me here… that’s _nothing_ , a pittance. I’m such a fool.”

“What?” Tony looked up at him, but there were no answers in those big, sad eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“He let me keep all the memories of you,” Bucky said. “He _knew_. I thought I was so clever. Thought I’d hidden myself from you, but you kept _looking_. I had to do something. And he let it happen. After seventy years, he _finally_ finds a way to kill all my hope? It’s so ironic it’s almost beautiful.”

Tony hesitated, trying to decide if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. “What... what hope, Bucky?”

Bucky pushed at his bottom lip with his tongue, tipping his head to one side. “I never even wanted to be free. I never expected that, never hoped for it. I just… wanted someone to care for, who cared about me. That’s all. And I… I thought I had that, but _you hate me_. What I did to you... And he knew that. He let me go, just so I would…”

“I don’t hate you,” Tony said. “This would be so much simpler if I did. All that time I spent searching for you... It probably sounds insane to say I was in love, after we’d only known each other for a few hours, but... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Can’t. Won’t ever. And it feels like some kind of betrayal, to feel that way about the man who... who was used to kill my parents. It’s. It’s _complicated_. But it’s not hate. It couldn’t ever be hate. I need you too much for that.”

“It doesn’t sound insane,” Bucky said. “Or maybe it does, just not to me. A few hours, Tony, they’ve been precious to me. I’m… and it was ruined, before it even started, and I didn’t know. I… what do we do now?”

“Well. First, I’ll show you your room, and you can change into something dry and hopefully more comfortable. And then, because I’m not inclined to give Alex Pierce _anything_ that he wants, we... start over.” Tony rubbed at the aching spot just over his temple. “And a little later, we’ll meet up with your friends, and see what the next step is in the big plan.”

Bucky nodded, slowly. Looked down, and Tony was not quite shocked to see that, at some point, they’d twined their fingers together, unconscious. There was the impulse to jerk free, the conflicting desire to pull Bucky closer. “So much pain,” Bucky said, as if talking to himself. He let go of Tony’s hand, reluctance in every movement. “Start over? Is it even possible?” Bucky shook it off, dismissing the questions. “You… you said you had a room for me? A shower, maybe, and something to eat? I don’t want to take too much of your hospitality.”

“Food, yes, I should have asked,” Tony said quickly. “This isn’t hospitality, this is-- This is your home, now. For now, for as long as you want it.” He backed away a step, another. Made himself turn and lead the way. “Tell me if there’s anything you need. Or... Anything.” He opened the door to the suite he’d set aside for Bucky, gestured for Bucky to precede him in.

There was a hint there, of that long ago burlesque performer who’d gawked at the chandelier in Tony’s hotel room, the man who appreciated beauty that Tony had long grown jaded about. “Thank you, it’s lovely,” he said, taking a step into the room and shuffling one foot lightly on the carpeting. He glanced at the artwork on the wall -- Tony didn’t even remember purchasing it, but it was a Caravaggio, full of rich colors and round, saintly figures -- and then stared, awestruck. “Very lovely.” It wasn’t entirely clear what he was speaking of; the painting, or the room, or maybe even Tony himself.

“I should let you get cleaned up,” Tony said, but his feet refused to move away. Bucky was so close, was _right there_ , and it was hard to let him slip out of sight again. He clenched his hands, loosened them, made himself back toward the doorway. On the threshold, he hesitated again. “Bucky, I... I’m glad you’re not with him anymore.”

“I-- I’m glad to be _with you_ ,” Bucky said. “Thank you. For everything.”

Tony shook his head a little. He didn’t want Bucky’s gratitude. He wanted... He didn’t know what he wanted. “I, uh. Should...” All the oxygen in the room had departed, it seemed, for the way his lungs ached. “If you, if you need anything--”

“You know what I need,” Bucky said. “You could… just stay. If you wanted.”

The breath caught in Tony’s throat. “I... I could. I could do that.” He stepped closer, and then closer again, and Bucky’s face was cradled in his shaking hands. “Bucky.”

“Anything,” Bucky said, and the pull between them was like gravity, inevitable and natural and as easy as falling. Bucky wet his lips with the tip of his tongue just before their mouths crashed together, a brief press of lip to lip, a taste of sweetness, the remembered feel of Bucky’s cold skin, the way his very heartbeat seemed to ease Tony’s pain. “ _Everything_.”

“Just you,” Tony gasped. “That’s all I need. Just... you. Please.” He didn’t know what he was begging for, but it didn’t matter. He had Bucky, and that was all he needed.

Bucky speared a hand into Tony’s hair, cradling the back of his skull, holding him just so. He nipped at Tony’s lip, a scrape of teeth, the brush of his tongue as he sampled Tony’s mouth was soft. He tasted like the plums he’d sent, the same sweetness, the handful of snowflakes over Tony’s emotional fires, cooling the pain, the anguish, and leaving only those deep embers of desire and need. “I’m here, beloved. I’m here.”

Tony drew a breath, and it seemed like the first time he’d breathed easy in months. “I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses. “I’m sorry it took so long.” He let his body melt against Bucky’s, feeling that cool, firm skin against his own. “Oh, god, I’ve missed you so much.”

“All I’ve done since was dream of you,” Bucky confessed. “Sleeping, and hoping to meet you in my dreams. Reaching out and never being able to touch you.” He teased his fingers under the edge of Tony’s shirt, skin warming against Tony’s body heat. He drew back a step, luring Tony with him, dotting Tony’s face with soft, baby kisses, nuzzling at his throat. Backing them up as if by instinct, to the bed. He sat on the edge and wrapped his arms around Tony’s thighs, resting his head against Tony’s stomach, practically panting for breath, as if he’d just run a race, or been released from torment.

Tony stroked his hands over Bucky’s hair, bent down to capture Bucky’s mouth again. He felt calm and easy. _Right_. He stripped his shirt off and dropped it to the floor, then tugged Bucky’s singlet up and off. “You can touch me now,” he promised. “All you want.”

Bucky took Tony at his word, hands roaming over Tony’s skin, teasing and caressing, memorizing the map of Tony’s body. For long moments, he was content to press his hand over Tony’s heart, as if relishing the feel of every beat. Bone deep shivers rippled through Bucky’s body, shaking with suppressed emotions or perhaps trembling with excitement. He gazed up at Tony, adoring and eager.

He scooted back on the bed, drawing Tony over him like a blanket, until Tony was cradled against him. “Not dreaming, now,” he said. “In dreams, you were as cold as I am, but… I can feel your heat. It’s so nice, you can’t imagine how good this feels.”

“I think I can imagine it pretty clearly,” Tony said, suddenly amused. “Though I like the way you feel. Keeps me from burning up.” He ducked his head to nuzzle at Bucky’s throat, along the collarbones. “Guess that makes us evenly matched.”

Bucky arched up, pushing himself at Tony’s mouth, a soft whimper of need coming out of his throat. He ran his hands down Tony’s back, ended by sliding his fingers under the waistband of Tony’s slacks until his hands were tucked tight to Tony’s ass. He shifted, using his grip on Tony to rock them together, rubbing himself against Tony’s thigh. “You make me want… everything. All at once.”

Tony shivered at the sensation and rolled his hips again, sliding them together and watching the way Bucky’s eyelids fluttered. “You make me want to give you everything. Though all at once might be a tall order to fill.” He smiled, still amused, and kissed Bucky again, licking that sweet plum taste off those plush lips, nipping at them and then soothing it with his tongue. He pushed up onto his arms to look down at Bucky, spread under him like an offering to some greedy god. “You’re so beautiful, look at you.”

And he was, pale and dark, a mix of poison and joy like some cursed object in a fairy tale that made you long for the taste of an apple, even though you knew it was deadly. Snow White, fairest in the land, in an enchanted sleep. Bucky was the most beautiful creature Tony had ever seen, the pinnacle of wonder, the very knife’s edge.

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows to meet Tony halfway, cradled between his powerful thighs. “I could say the same,” he said. Claimed Tony’s mouth in another kiss, and then rolled them over so he was on top, bearing down against Tony’s pelvis, rubbing them together through the hampering mass of Tony’s slacks. Too many clothes, too much, and they rolled again, nearly ended up on the floor in their haste to get Tony undressed.  

Tony laughed and slid off the bed, shucking the clothes and then climbing back up to devour Bucky’s mouth, pressing hungry kisses down his throat, tasting his skin. He wriggled until he was slotted between Bucky’s thighs and worked downward, seeking out every spot that made Bucky gasp and squirm and tighten his hands on Tony’s hair and skin.

Bucky’s hands opened and closed restlessly, fingers running light over Tony’s shoulders, then plunging into his hair. He brushed a thumb along the side of Tony’s ear. His legs came up, locking his ankles around Tony’s back. Heels pressed against Tony’s spine, encouraging. “Oh, oh, Tony,” Bucky moaned, his head going back to show off that lovely throat. “Missed you, every day, I missed you.”

Tony groaned and dragged his mouth over the smooth skin of Bucky’s stomach. “Yes,” he said, and slid down again to look at that gorgeous, proud cock. He licked it from root to tip, the heat of arousal barely warming Bucky’s cool skin. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed you, how much I’ve wanted...” He shook his head and went back for another taste, and another, loving the way Bucky writhed under him.

Bucky rolled his hips into it, dragging in a strangled breath. “I know,” he said, and maybe he did. There were so many unanswered questions about Bucky’s talents, his ability to sense and soothe emotions, his touch against Tony’s memories. His hands were on Tony’s skin and his feelings were seeping out of his fingertips and into Tony’s heart, all the things they didn’t know how to say, all the things they wanted the other one to know. “I love you.”

The words jolted straight to Tony’s heart, a searing pain that diffused into glowing warmth. “Love... I love you, too,” he managed, and then swallowed Bucky down. God, he tasted sweet, like spring thaw and plums. Like coming home after a long trip. Like... like _Bucky_.

So easy, then, to go with the ebb and flow of it, as Bucky rocked gently into Tony’s mouth, the way their bodies moved together, breath mingling with soft sighs and low moans. Bucky was lavishly uninhibited, groaning wantonly at each thrust and slide. All Tony’s attention was on the gorgeous man laid out for him like a feast. He practically glowed like a star, even his pale skin vivid against the whiteness of Tony’s sheets.

Bucky’s hands clenched down on Tony’s shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, leaving little marks behind. Warmth spread from Tony’s body to Bucky’s, an exchange of heat and love and need. And Bucky gave him everything, even before Tony knew to ask.

“There--” Bucky cried out, sensual as he rocked his head side to side, not denying anything, just moving because it was move or burn up in the heat of it. He shuddered all over, then-- “God! Tony!” and he spilled into Tony’s mouth.

Tony swallowed, and swallowed again, licking gently through the aftershocks until Bucky was twitching with oversensitivity. He pulled away, scattering random kisses across Bucky’s hip and stomach. “So beautiful, so perfect,” he murmured. “Love you, so much.”

Bucky nuzzled at Tony’s hair, his forehead, pulled him up to kiss him thoroughly. “I’m so glad,” he murmured. “Everything, you’re everything.” With a bit of nudging and rearranging, Bucky got Tony facing away, sitting cradled between Bucky’s knees. Bucky curled an arm around Tony’s hip and took him in hand, stroking lightly, curling his fingers around Tony’s length.

They were perfectly framed by the mirror over the dresser, and Bucky’s eyes were dark and watchful as he met Tony’s gaze in the reflection. “There, there you are.”

Tony’s breath caught. He couldn’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, even as he tipped his head back, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, surrounding himself with Bucky’s scent. “All yours,” he agreed, and it was true in the way of things that rarely were spoken aloud.

Never looking away, seldom blinking, Bucky kept his gaze firm-fixed on their reflection as he worked Tony over. Each stroke was seemingly perfect; Bucky’s palm was soft, his grip supple, his wrist graceful as he moved. Tony was tucked, warm and safe, against Bucky’s chest, cradled in his embrace. Even when he wanted to close his eyes, to lose himself in the sensation, he couldn’t help but want to watch, wanted to see the way Bucky stared at him, awed and adoring. The way Bucky watched each twitch of Tony’s features, each play of emotion across his face.

The way the look in Bucky’s eyes told Tony that he was loved. Adored. Needed. Desired. _Worthy_.

“That’s just right, doll,” Bucky told him, nipping gently at Tony’s earlobe. “So lovely, just look at you, look at us.” He brought Tony up to the very edge, then kept him there, quivering, for what seemed like decades, trembling on the very precipice of orgasm.

Tony would have begged for release, but he was beyond begging, beyond doing anything but gasping for each breath, moaning and mewling his need. “Bucky, god, Bucky, _yes_ , yours, always.” When he finally tipped over the edge, it was almost a surprise. He threw his head back and let himself sink into the sensation of Bucky wrapped around him, keeping him safe. The sensation of _home_.

He was too limp, even to move, and Bucky soothed him as he moved up and around, getting them both under the blankets while Tony clung to his side. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Bucky told him, settling them down for just a rest, a little nap. “Not ever again.”


	4. Chapter 4

If Tony had bothered to consider what Bucky would look like, dressed in casual clothing, without the spooky environment of the burlesque show and the thick lines of kohl around his eyes, or without the abject subjugation of the cryotube, he would have thought that Bucky would be relatively unremarkable. Bucky was only a man, after all. A man with enormous talent that had been perverted for decades, but a man, nonetheless.

He would never have guessed that Bucky would look just as ethereal, just as unearthly beautiful in a dark blue pullover and brown cargo pants. He could have been a transplanted angel, complete with halo, and he wouldn’t have looked any more beautiful.

Bucky gave him a quick smile, lacing their fingers together, as if he’d heard Tony’s thoughts. Who knew, maybe he had.

Maybe it was just love.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tony said, because he knew if he said what he was thinking, Bucky would probably laugh at him. Or worse, take him seriously. “Excited to see your friend again?”

“A long time ago, I took care of Steve,” Bucky said, chewing on his lip like he was trying to pin down wandering memories. “They expected so much from him. His mutation was supposed to be something special. Project Rebirth. They amplified him. Too much; he slipped right through their fingers. He’s tried to repay… he takes care of me, now.”

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand a little. “Well, maybe if we’re both taking care of you, we’ll do a better job of it. If we can just get through all this political mess...” He sighed. He’d never wanted to get involved in government, shady or otherwise. The politics of the boardroom was more than enough for Tony; all he’d ever wanted was to create things.

Tony hadn’t expected Steve or Nat to knock, and they didn’t disappoint him, walking in like they owned the place. They didn’t. Tony did, even if it was owned through several shell companies, and far away from anything that might be remotely connected to his interests. In case everything went to shit, which he was kind of expecting, really.

“Buck,” Steve said, and his face lost all the harsh righteousness that it had when Tony had spoken with him before. “How are you?” Bucky was out of his chair in a flash, his arms going around his friend. Bucky’s shoulders were shaking and he tucked his face against the crook of Steve’s throat.

“Not bad, for a semi-stable hundred-year-old mutant,” Bucky said, as he reluctantly let go.

“You look well, James,” Nat said, and she kissed his cheek. The three of them formed a tight, tiny triangle which, for quite a long moment, seemed to utterly ignore that Tony existed as the three of them reestablished some sort of bond. All for one, one for all, whatever. Mutant brotherhood.

“Thank you, Stark,” Steve said, his smile for Bucky and Bucky alone. “We’ll take him from here.”

“ _Take--_ ” Bucky stepped back, hand reaching out for Tony’s. “What are you--”

Tony’s hand closed on Bucky’s, holding him tight. “I want in, Rogers.”

“What do you mean, in?” Steve spluttered. “You’ve _done_ your part, and we’re grateful.” Yeah, right. Tony had seen scorpions exhibit more gratitude.

“Take me where?” Bucky asked. “I don’t--”

“You don’t _belong_ to him, James,” Nat said, gently, her tone soothing. “Whatever Stark paid for you, he’ll get it back and with interest, but you don’t have to stay.”

“I won’t, actually. Pierce wouldn’t take money.” He addressed Nat, already knowing Steve wouldn’t listen. “I’ve played my part. I’m _useful_ , now. I’ve proven I’ve got a stake in this. And if I disappear from the board entirely, then Pierce will know you’re up to something. He’ll be forewarned. You need to keep me in it.”

“I’m not leaving Tony,” Bucky said, baldly. “Let me put that on the table right now. Whatever else is going on here, I don’t aim to lose him now.”

Nat glanced up at Bucky, then to Tony. “Oh.”

Tony met her eyes steadily. “Oh,” he echoed. “Yes.” He shifted his hold on Bucky’s hand slightly, lacing their fingers tightly. _Your move, Rogers_.

“Oh?” Steve asked, head swiveling on his neck like he was watching some high stakes ping pong tournament. “What _oh_? Which _oh_ , what _oh_ , exactly are we talking about here?” He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing. “No. No, that’s not what’s going on here, no. This was _not_ part of the plan.”

“And I’m tellin’ you right here, pal,” Bucky said, “that I don’t care what your damn plan is. I ain’t leaving Tony. Might as well factor that in, right now, because that’s a fact, an’ it ain’t changing.”

“And I’m not leaving Bucky,” Tony said mildly. “So factor me into whatever plan you’ve got, figure out a good way to use my rather extensive resources, and take it for the windfall that it is.”

Nat ignored her seething coworker (boyfriend? Boss? Tony wasn’t sure.) for the moment. “Did Pierce buy it? He gave you James, but did he buy the act? Does he think you’re a turncoat?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. He knew about our earlier... meeting, but I feel pretty confident that I sold him that I’ve flipped. Possibly _because_ of that previous meeting, combined with... the history.” Pierce would still be suspicious, but that was all right. They could use it, in fact, if they were clever enough.

“We can use him,” Nat said decisively.

“Nat, no,” Steve groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“It solves all our problems,” Nat said. “Stark’s already everything we need. Rich, influential. We don’t have to make a strawman at all. He can go right in, they probably have a seat at the damn table for him.”

“I have died and I’m in hell,” Steve complained. “No. No, we’re not taking that risk-- he’s either going to want proof that Buck’s dead, or--”

“Or what?” That was Bucky, eyebrow going up.

“You already have a collar,” Nat said. “Use it. It’s what Pierce would expect.”

Tony looked for Bucky’s reaction to the suggestion. It was hard to find; Bucky was very, _very_ good at controlling his expression. “It... would make it easier to get you inside,” Tony agreed carefully. “But if you don’t want to, we’ll manufacture proof of death.”

Bucky raised his free hand and brushed Tony’s cheek lightly with his knuckles. “I’d rather be with you, wherever you’re going.”

“Buck, no, don’t do this,” Steve practically begged.

“Steve,” Nat said, “you might as well talk to the wall. He’s in lo--”

“Do not say it,” Steve snapped.

“Not saying it doesn’t make it not true,” she said with a shrug.

“He’ll rant and complain and try to talk us out of it,” Bucky predicted, “but in the end, we’re going to do things Natasha’s way.”

Tony nodded agreement. “You might as well just tell us what you’ve got in mind,” he told Nat. “So Rogers can go off and have his litter of kittens over it in private.”

***

The Bad Guys™ really needed to update their rituals once a century or so, Tony decided. The "whole hooded figures in a circle around some mystical object" shtick was so déclassé as to be tropey.

He supposed the addition of a dozen or so kneeling slaves was just a nod to tradition, but it was obscurely painful to see Bucky join them and sink to his knees in his plain cotton robe. Pierce, his hood pushed back from his handsome face, had moved from the crowd of identical fascists to greet Tony, to touch Bucky’s face with a possessive hand.

“Dear James,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what your intentions were toward him.”

Bucky didn’t flinch away from Pierce’s hand at all. In fact, he leaned into it, stropping his cheek against the man’s fingers and planting a soft kiss into the palm, like the adoring pet Pierce obviously expected him to be.

“To be honest, I wasn’t entirely certain myself,” Tony admitted, entirely truthful. “I had a whole list of tortures and humiliations on offer -- and I won’t say I haven’t indulged myself there a little -- but in the end, he was just too... useful to destroy.”

“He is, quite,” Pierce said. “And a delight in other matters, as I’m certain you already know.” He gave Tony a quick, lewd wink. “We’re honored that you’ve considered our other offer. Come. The initiation is mostly a formality, these days. No one expects you to sign a contract in blood.”

His bodyguard -- the man who delivered Bucky to Tony, Rumlow -- laughed at that. “I’ll stay here with the toys.” He stepped closer, and wasn’t particularly subtle about treading on Bucky’s hand. Bucky made a soft, sad noise, but didn’t try to pull his hand out from under Rumlow’s boot.

Tony fixed Rumlow with his best glare. “I need that in functioning condition. No damage. Period. Leave him alone.”

“Brock’s a little overzealous sometimes,” Pierce said, putting an arm around Tony to draw him toward the circle and its mystical object. “James can endure his attentions for a while. Nothing permanent will be damaged.”

“Besides,” Rumlow said, “he’s pretty when he cries. Haven’t you noticed?”

Tony restrained himself from punching Rumlow in the face. The dickweed was probably one of those guys whose faces felt like brick walls anyway. Tony didn’t need to break a finger on it.

Bucky had promised he knew what to expect and didn’t expect to have any trouble with it. Tony reminded himself that this was all for the greater good, and let Pierce lead him onward. “Right, let’s get on with this. I have a million and one projects cooking.”

“We look forward to your ideas,” Pierce said. He was all but rubbing his hands together like a Disney villain.

Tony was introduced around the circle to Hydra’s best and brightest, a list of names that could have proven invaluable even if this was the only meeting he was ever allowed to attend. People he had already _known_ , worked with in the past. Like Senator Stern, who’d been an arrogant asshole on the Senate floor, but Tony had never suspected him of anything more nefarious than using his position to get access to eager young interns.

“A national treasure,” Stern said, that oily, frog-like grin of his unusually sincere. “Good to have you with us, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s a pleasure, Senator,” Tony said. Well, it would be a pleasure when he got Stern kicked out of the Senate and then disbarred for good measure. He shook Stern’s hand (he’d had worse) and moved on down the line.

“We all know how… _familiar_ you are with pleasure,” the next one said, giving Tony a warm smile. “I remember that Senate hearing, it was hilarious. Stern ranted about it for _weeks_.” He seemed very friendly, the kind of man Tony might have wanted to party with when he was younger. Strange that someone could be a genocidal fascist and still seem like a cool guy. It made Tony question a lot of his assumptions, but he supposed the world wasn’t strictly divided up into good guys and Death Eaters.

Tony laughed a little. “Once we’re done here, we’ll trade numbers. Maybe we can discuss the finer points of pleasure.” He was going to need to take a bath in a whole vat of sanitizer after this.

“I’m very glad that you have not yet… made permanent arrangements for James,” Pierce was saying, “otherwise these would be our last. I understand the initiation procedure was sometimes fatal, before we came to possess James’ unique talents.” He opened a lined chest and removed one of the frost-covered plums that Tony had seen before. “We’ll compensate you for his time, of course. Please, take one, and then step into the center of the circle.”

More anger, that anyone else had access to the magical fruit that Bucky had created. Was it righteousness, or mere jealousy? Didn’t matter; it all had to be hidden. He took a plum and, cradling it in his hands, took his place in the circle.

Hydra formed the circle around him. There was no way to escape them, all of them hooded now and anonymous. Ominous.

One of them spoke, reciting a history of their order, far older than Tony would have predicted, all based around the idea and ideal of _human_ purity. That some mythical event would pass, and humans would purge the planet of the scourge that infected them like a parasite, and then they would take their place amongst the rulers of the very universe.

Fairly standard evil gibberish. It might even have been funny, if Tony’s life wasn’t balanced there, on a razor-fine edge.

He was just starting to wonder when they’d get on with it when a ring opened up around Tony’s feet, and he was suddenly encapsulated in a glass tube. White mist descended from the ceiling of his cell.

“That’s pretty fancy,” he said, because he’d learned early on to never let them see him sweating. “What’s in the gas?” He sniffed at it experimentally, trying to identify it. His hands closed a little more tightly on Bucky’s plum, which wasn’t thawing at all. The cold was comforting.

“It will let you see the face of our God,” one of the robed figures said. “And it is He, not us, who will judge you worthy.”

“Eat the fruit of our failures, should the pain grow too great,” another said, and that was Pierce, whose voice was creepily familiar.

The gas… smelled strange, like sulphur and burned sugar, and breathing it made Tony dizzy. His mind swam unpleasantly. Without quite knowing how he got there, he found himself sprawled on the stone floor.

A hallucinogen, maybe? To see the face of God? Tony would have scoffed, but his heart was hammering in his chest, blood pounding through his veins. He had a brief but terrifying image of those Japanese revenge movies where the villain’s head exploded in a torrent of blood, far more than any human could contain.

He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, much less the face of God.

He sat up slowly, peering into the darkness that surrounded him. “Hello?”

Fuck, why had he said that? That’s what they _always_ said right before the monster jumped out of the dark to eat them.

A quiet, rasping sound echoed through the -- room? Maybe? He couldn’t see any walls -- but he couldn’t pinpoint its direction. _Face it on your feet,_ he told himself. He considered arguing -- if he died, sitting or standing wouldn’t make much difference -- but he supposed it was worth a small amount of effort to die with a modicum of dignity. He got up.

“Okay, any time now.” The words had barely left his lips when something brushed against the back of his calf. He whirled around, but nothing was there.

He turned around slowly. Still nothing. And then a robed, hooded figure stepped out of the darkness, into the faint, directionless light that surrounded him. One of the Hydra guys, maybe? Tony watched warily as it came closer, but even when it was within arm’s reach, he couldn’t see under the hood.

“Okay,” Tony said, trying to sound normal. “What’s next?”

The figure’s hand came up to push the hood back. The face it revealed was that of a rotting corpse, crawling with maggots and reeking of foul meat and pus. Startled, Tony stepped back, and back again.

The floor shifted under his foot, soft like the ground after a week’s worth of rain. It had been stone a moment ago, hadn’t it?

_Hallucination_ , he reminded himself. _Get a grip, it’s not real_.

He took another step back, and his foot sank deeper. _Don’t look_ , he told himself, _don’t look don’t look don’t_ \-- He looked.

The floor was a pit of bodies, broken and moldering, rotten flesh giving way under his weight, fragile bones snapping.

Tony’s heart had never beat so fast. It was racing so hard it _hurt_. Was he having a goddamned heart attack? He clutched at his chest and something cold pressed into it, something... something cool and soothing and loving. He looked down at the plum, still rimed with frost. “Bucky,” he whispered, barely a breath.

This wasn’t real. It was _not. Real_. But the stench of putrefaction filled his nostrils, crawled down his throat like a living thing, pulsing and pushing at his lungs until he was gasping for breath.

It wasn’t real, but he couldn’t take much more. He lifted the plum to his lips and bit down--

It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket, or shaken by a gentle hand, woken from a nightmare, his body aching and sweaty, to find someone with him. Someone loving and comforting. _There, it’s all right, it was only a dream._

At the same time, he could tell the hallucinations, or whatever the fuck they were, were still there, just outside this tiny shell of peace.

_I’ve got you, it’s all right._

That was Bucky’s _voice_ , the smell of his skin, the eager rush of his breath as he came apart in pleasure. _Tony. Tony, I’m here._

Tony clung to it, drawing in deep, grateful breaths and filling his ears with that beloved voice, letting it push away the nightmare. “I can’t wake up,” he murmured. “I want to wake up.”

_It’s a test… you only have to endure. I believe in you._

Tony wasn’t sure how long he cringed inside that little space, carved out of love and joy, but so thin and fragile, until the darkness lifted and Pierce was there.

“Here, brother,” he said, offering Tony a goblet of what smelled like wine. “Drink and become one of us.”

Tony was crouched on the floor, but the glass tube had disappeared. He wrapped one hand around the goblet’s bowl and took a grateful gulp. “I don’t even care if you spiked it with something,” he said. “God, that sucked.”

For a moment, even the subtle and sly Pierce looked shaken. “I remember,” he said. “But know that you are worthy, whole and human. You are one of us, now, and we would all die to further our goals. Fortunately, that’s seldom required. Hail Hydra.”

Tony swallowed another mouthful of the wine, and nodded. “Hail Hydra,” he rasped, probably not with as much feeling as they expected, but that had been utterly awful. “What, uh. What now?”

“Nothing tonight,” Pierce told him. “Rest, and regain your strength. Tomorrow, however, we could use your _insight_ on a little project. Dr. Zola’s brainchild, but we’re having some difficulty with the algorithm. I’m sure with your assistance, we’ll get it all straightened out.”

Tony wracked his brain for something appropriately horrible and Hydra-y to say. “Of course. I live to serve.” There, that would probably do the trick. He climbed to his feet, waving off Pierce’s offer of assistance, and snapped his fingers imperiously at Bucky. “Come. We’re going home now.”

Bucky was there, arm around Tony’s waist. “I’ve got you, my lord.” He helped Tony upright, holding him up without seeming to. He turned his face up to Pierce, eyes going soft, limpid, insipid. Pierce grabbed Bucky’s chin in a vice-like grip and kissed him, fierce and quick, but thorough. Bucky’s eyes were glazed with-- something that looked utterly unlike desire, but Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on what it _was_.

“Good night, Stark,” Pierce said, giving them a little salute.

“Come on,” Bucky said, in a voice a little more like his normal speaking tones, a low growl, soft enough for only Tony to hear. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Say what one might about Hydra being an evil organization, and for that matter, the fact that the workshop was in a sub-basement of a mouldering old castle, but they had spared no expense for the best tools and toys.

“I’m not saying I _would_ turn evil for this,” Tony murmured, “but it’s a hell of an incentive package.” He ran his hands over the equipment, noting the way technology that was even older than he was had been married to products so new they weren’t even on the general market yet.

A lone terminal awaited, its faded cursor blinking patiently. Tony considered it for a moment. “Do you want to play a game?” he asked, and grinned.

A face, made up of green and black matrix-like symbols appeared. “Not today, Mr. Stark, but allow me to welcome you to Hydra, and say how much I have looked forward to the day when I might, at last, be able to meet the man who is as much a futurist as I, in my day.” The face wasn’t… pleasant. Round like a toad, an image greatly reinforced by the color scheme of the monitor, with a round, lipless mouth, and what looked like they might have been round spectacles at once point, but with mirrored reflections instead of letting him see the man’s eyes. In those round circles, despite the pixelation caused by the symbols, Tony actually thought he could see… himself. Startled and on edge and fascinated all at the same time.

Tony jerked his hands back from the keyboard as if it might burn him. “Who the hell are you? _What_ the hell are you?”

“I knew your father,” the image said, and another monitor in the room turned on, the same face, studying Tony from a different angle. “I… died, in prison, under his care. But let us have bygones be bygones, shall we? Without his work, none of this would have been possible. I am Dr. Arnim Zola, and I am delighted to meet you at last. Brother.”

Tony knew that name. _He knew that name_. And only decades of practice at controlling his reactions kept his features impassive. “Zola? Really? You, what? Uploaded your consciousness into these mainframes? That’s... Is that even _possible_?”

“Apparently, it is,” Zola said, and his face appeared on a third monitor. “It is, unfortunately, somewhat limiting. When I died, you were a new baby. We were nearly born together, your birth scant months before my rebirth. We are, indeed, as brothers, in more ways than one. But I grow sentimental; forgive me. The transfer of such vast amounts of data nearly overwhelmed the technology of the time.”

The image licked lips made from nothing but lit pixels. “For this, I wished you to come to Hydra. Perhaps, together, we will be able to create a more efficient technology. Come, sit, and I’ll show you all my innermost secrets.”

Well. This was what Tony had come for, after all. He sat in the chair and leaned forward to look at the keyboard. “Project Insight?”

“Ah, you understand,” Zola said. “So much chaos, caused by the mutants and those who would help them. A halt to the steady march toward order. These mutants… For years, we thought they could not be predicted. That is... no longer the case, Mr. Stark.”

The program whirred as various servers kicked to life, the fans stirring the air, cooling the drives. “Look. The end result is a perfect society, a beacon of order with the purity and purpose of an ant colony, and the beauty of a flawless pearl.”

Zola’s algorithm was pure mathematical genius, a deadly, surgical strike. “Our difficulty, Herr Doktor Stark,” he said, “is reload time. Surely, a weapons designer such as yourself can help us with this… inefficiency.”

“No doubt,” Tony agreed, and horribly, solutions began to build themselves in the back of his brain, unbidden. “I’ll need some time to study the algorithm, though. How are you handling the targeting?”

The man -- machine, or cyborg, or whatever he was -- was undeniably brilliant. The utter lack of concern he had for human life wasn’t new, either. Tony had heard stories about the man. He was a man who looked at a problem as only something to solve, with no thought of the cost in human lives and suffering.

_Brother_ , Zola had called him.

With a shudder, Tony thought that Zola was closer to the truth than even he knew.

The question of the algorithm and the reload time were like prizes in some high stakes game, and Tony couldn’t help but look at them, figure them, fondle them like gold.

In the end, the weakness was harder to get at than Tony might have imagined. He was only grateful that his memory allowed him to carry out plans and designs without a single piece of paper, with nary a file or hard drive, everything perfectly mapped in his own genius brain.

Steve was waiting for him when Tony returned home, coaxing a worried and reluctant Bucky into eating more than a few bites of soup.

Tony all but collapsed into the chair beside Bucky’s, leaning into Bucky’s side and letting that cool touch soothe him. “It’s the most awful thing I’ve ever seen. And the most... elegant.” He hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder for a long moment, breathing in the scent of Bucky’s skin and hair and reminding himself that there was a _reason_ for all this. “I’ve got a solution, but it’s not... it’s not easy.”

“It never is,” Steve said with a sigh.

“I--” Bucky brushed cool fingers down Tony’s face. “I can’t take this fear from you. It’s too tangled up with the plan, and your information. It… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey.” Tony twined his fingers with Bucky’s. “I’ve been afraid before. Won’t be the last time, either. Just... Just being with you helps.” He pressed Bucky’s hand to his face again, storing up the sensation, and straightened to lay out all the information, and the plan he’d been sketching in since that gorgeous, deadly algorithm had scrolled down the screen.

“It all comes down to the targeting system,” he told them, keeping his hold on Bucky’s hand. “It’s computerized, controlled by the algorithm. I can turn their weapons against each other, but not until after launch.”

“Launching that nightmare was _never_ part of the plan, Stark,” Steve snapped, hands flat on the table, face rigid with anger.

“Steve--” Bucky said. “Tony is doing the best for us he can.”

“His best isn’t going to be good enough!”

Tony kept the flinch from his face, though he was sure Bucky felt it. “The weapons won’t fire unless they’re airborne. It’s a--” He broke off, laughing bitterly. “A safety feature. I can _delay_ the launch by a week, maybe two, but I can’t shut down the program without completely destroying those weapons.”

“I don’t… why kill us all, if he’s getting the Restrictions passed,” Steve said. “What possible threat are we, rights stripped, seen as nothing more than intelligent _animals_?”

“It’s the _intelligent_ part that scares them the most,” Tony said. “No matter how much they insist you aren’t human, they can’t deny that you’re _smart_. That the Restrictions won’t matter in the long run, because you will never lie down and accept that fate. You’ll keep fighting, and eventually, you’ll win.”

“But not if they kill us all first,” Steve said, staring out the window as if Insight’s helicarriers were already on the skyline. “Fuck. I won’t let it happen. What do we have to do?”

“We need to get one person aboard each of those ‘carriers before launch. After they’re airborne, we’ll have about twenty minutes to get to the server core and swap out the targeting blades with new ones that I’ll make for us. And then get the _hell_ off those boats.”

“I can get anywhere you need me to be,” Steve said, easily. “Lucky, remember? And Nat--” His expression softened. “She can pretend to be anyone, get anywhere. That leaves the third boat for you.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll take the command ship. My presence, if I’m seen, is easiest to explain.” He glanced at Bucky, looking for... He didn’t know what. Some sort of reaction, maybe.

“I’m going with you,” Bucky said. “I’ll be exempted from the targeting list. Pierce… he’ll expect me to be with you, one of the few survivors. That you’ll… want me to be safe. From Insight, if not from… you.”

“I _do_ want you to be safe,” Tony said. “You... If you’re with me, you know he’ll try something.”

“Let him try,” Bucky said, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes, a spark of steel along his spine. “I never had so much to fight for, before.”

***

Tony finished the work on the replacement blades, and then he double-checked them. And triple-checked. And checked yet again. Nothing could afford to be wrong, not the slightest hint of it. Everything had to be perfect. He locked the blades in their protective cases and pulled up the blueprints of the helicarriers. The things were massive, the size of small towns, practically. He knew the route to the server core better than he knew his own name, but the escape routes... There were too many of them, and depended too much on circumstances. Time would be of the essence, though.

He stared at the blueprints, tracing route after route, reviewing plan after plan, until his eyes burned and blurred. He reached for a cup of coffee, but it was long empty and cold.

“Tony?” Bucky shuffled into the lab, wearing white sleep pants and nothing else, the fabric hanging low on his hips. “Are you going to sleep, beloved?”

“Unlikely,” Tony admitted. God, Bucky was so beautiful it made him _ache_. “Too keyed up for tomorrow.” Too frightened, too, though he didn’t admit that aloud. Bucky would know, but giving it voice would give it power, according to some superstition that Tony should scoff at, but couldn’t.

“The plan is solid,” Bucky said, soft, leaning against Tony’s shoulders, practically draping himself over Tony like a contented cat. “And if anything goes wrong, at least we’ll be together, at the end of everything.”

“Yes,” Tony said, but it hurt too much to even contemplate a world without Bucky in it. He tipped his head back, seeking, and Bucky obliged him with a kiss. “You should rest, if you can.”

“Come with me,” Bucky said, drawing teasing fingers through Tony’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and rubbing the back of his neck. “If you cannot sleep, you can always get up again.” It sounded at once logical, and also exactly like the sort of trap Jarvis used to lead him into when he’d been a young boy. _Close your eyes for only a moment or two, Anthony._

He was helpless to resist Bucky’s requests, though, so he closed down his terminal and let Bucky lead him back to the bedroom. “I can’t believe this is what we’re reduced to,” Tony sighed. He kicked off his clothes and wormed under the covers. “How did things get so complicated, so terrible?”

Bucky stroked his fingers through Tony’s hair, soothing, projecting calm in tiny bursts, like novocaine. “It has… always been like this,” Bucky said. “Things were no less complicated when I was a child. No less terrible. People have always been afraid, and fear makes people do terrible things. And there have always been people who use fear, who propagate it, in order to work their will on the powerless.” He kissed Tony’s neck, a teasing smack that ended with a not-quite-subtle lick along the shell of Tony’s ear. “And there have always been people willing to stand up to them.”

“I suppose.” Tony curled into Bucky’s embrace, insistently snuggling. “Things sure seemed a lot simpler when I was a callow businessman who didn’t care about anything but the profit margin.”

Bucky scoffed, which sounded weird in his ear and ticked along his skin. “I don’t believe that’s _ever_ who you were,” Bucky said. “Tony Stark, the futurist. Reaching for a better future for all of mankind, human and mutant alike. I’ve read your wiki entry, after all.”

“Shouldn’t believe everything you read on wikipedia. Just anyone can edit those things.” Tony looked up, lifted a hand to trace the shape of beloved features. “You made me a better person. You _make_ me a better person.”

“Nonsense,” Bucky told him, leaning into Tony’s hand, stropping against the skin. “If I could make people better, would Pierce still--” Bucky shuddered. “I can’t. I can’t… I _couldn’t_. People don’t change. They just become… more. Or sometimes, less. You… you became _luminous_.”

“Not your power,” Tony said. “Not your abilities. Just... Just _you_. You make me _want_ to be a better person. Not because you’ve changed me. But because I love you.”

“You never had much of anything to fight for, either. Now you do,” Bucky said, echoing his own words from earlier. “Thank you… for considering me worthy, after everything.” He rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder, shaking with minute tremors. “I love you. You’re… the whole world. My whole world.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him tightly. “It seems I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you. I’ll never let you go,” he promised.

“You’ll never have to,” Bucky swore, snuggling in closer until there was nothing between them at all. “Shhh, now, Tony. Just-- let go. It’ll wait until tomorrow.” He soothed Tony with gentle touches and soft, affectionate kisses, until it seemed that Tony really could… let go and sleep.

***

“An historic moment,” Pierce said, although his face twisted slightly. _Not quite the moment he was expecting,_ Tony thought. “And we’ll move forward, into a bright, new world.”

“The measure of history, of power, has always sided with those bold enough to act,” Zola said, his face appearing on half a dozen monitors at once, causing at least one Agent of the bright new world to recoil in disgust.

Tony thought of the careful, subtle virus that he’d created, ever so delicately replicating itself across Zola’s mainframes and servers, and smiled thinly. “Well spoken, Doctor.” He’d worked with Zola every day for what seemed like months, years. He had stopped reacting to Zola’s habit of popping up on whatever monitor was nearby weeks ago.

It was hard to reconcile; there were hundreds of crewmembers aboard the helicarriers. Surely not all of them were involved, surely not all of them understood the magnitude of what was planned. Tony didn’t know if they were all dedicated racists, ignorant, or just scared.

Probably scared. Fear-mongering had been a thing for as long as history was history, whatever Zola said about it.

They were _scared_ , and they thought they were taking a better step, toward a better, safer future.

A future free of the mutant threat.

Despite that, looking around at the earnest faces, the crew members and soldiers alike, Tony had to swallow hard not to puke. Was he any better, condemning hundreds in the ships, more, perhaps, on the ground. Although Steve and Nat were supposed to have taken care of that, arranging for an incident to require the streets around the launch facility to be evacuated.

He was going to have to trust, at least, that only the complicit would be killed.

Hopefully.

Pierce clapped Tony on the shoulder. “We could not have achieved this without your aid. Your service will be remembered.” He gave Tony a quick glance. “Are you certain you wish to remain aboard? Jasper and Senator Stern and I have a press conference to go to, to remain… outside the direct scope of things.”

An alibi, in other words, for when the whole thing went to shit. And it would. If the ships fired as expected, a lot of necks would be on the chopping block. His own included, no matter what he did, as designer of the ship’s flight tech, long before he’d been pulled into Steve’s scheming.

Even if things went according to his plans, Tony would probably still shoulder a great deal of the blame. Which was only fair -- he’d been blinded to the true measure of his work, he’d been naive and part of a system designed to replace culpability with corporations too big to fail.

Bucky, behind him, and somewhat to the left, shifted a little. Tony could only tell because the leash swung between them.

Whatever happened today, at least Bucky would never wear a leash again.

“No, I put a lot of work into this project. I want to see it through.” Tony offered Pierce his hand and a wide, fake smile. “It’s been an honor working with you, Senator.”

“A very great honor,” Pierce said. “I look forward to whatever else your remarkable intellect develops.” Oh yes, Pierce was definitely planning to sacrifice Tony to the wolves in the scramble to cast blame. Pierce took a step back, then-- “Would you mind, terribly, if I utilized James’ talent, before I depart.”

It didn’t come out as a question, and he didn’t actually wait for permission, grabbing Bucky roughly by the hair and wrenching his mouth down for a brutal kiss, scarcely worthy of the name, all teeth and no passion.

Bucky didn’t struggle, and his skin went pale, almost misting in the warm air of the helicarrier.

When Pierce pulled back, he seemed almost confused, decidedly fuzzy, as if he’d just been woken from a deep and refreshing sleep.  

Tony took advantage of that moment of dazed lack of focus to catch Bucky’s eye, sending a brief mental burst of love and regret and hope that he hoped Bucky would be able to read. By the time Pierce straightened fully, Tony’s expression was impassive again, unconcerned. “Your meeting, Senator,” he prompted gently. “You don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, of course, very right, Stark,” Pierce said, and he left the airship, completely unburdened by guilt or memory. Later, perhaps, one of his aides would tell him what happened, and how he was a part of it, but it would be numb, like a cheek after a dentist’s visit. Pierce would never feel the anguish of what had been wrought this day.

“Master,” Bucky said, low and respectful. “You should take some lunch.” Hard to tell, sometimes, with Bucky, what was pretense and what was sincere concern for Tony’s health.

But, if nothing else, it got him out from under the eyes of the bridge crew, while they went through all the preflight checks. Boring stuff. Tony wouldn’t be expected to be there, anyway.

“Yes, of course.” Tony nodded at the ship’s commander. “Don’t wait for me. I expect I’ll be able to see from pretty much anywhere.” He patted one of Zola’s consoles fondly. “Keep an eye on things for me, Doctor.” Not waiting for a response, he strode from the bridge, Bucky at his heels, turning down the hallway toward the officers’ mess.

Halfway there, he absently checked his watch, in the process thumbing a remote which caused the monitoring cameras to glitch and fuzz out -- only for half a second, but long enough for the security feed to be replaced with a carefully-constructed loop that would keep watchful eyes off the corridors they’d need to use.

He checked the door numbers, and nodded. “There we are. Almost done.” He walked purposefully, not glancing back at Bucky. Anyone walking by would assume he had business in this part of the ship.

The ships launched on schedule, lifting into the air smoothly. A cup of coffee on a table might not even have wobbled.

“You did a good job of the engines,” Bucky murmured. “Later, they will be repurposed.” His hand flitted out and touched Tony’s elbow, just a tiny caress, but his nerves were calmed. A little.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure there will be plenty of hyenas ready to feast on the carcass,” Tony said. He surreptitiously checked the hall, then pushed into the server core.

Nat and Steve and their tiny crews were hopefully in place, or this was going to be the shortest last stand in history.

Not much time left, Tony thought. The racks were empty, at least, all their technicians manning weapon stations and last minute computational adjustments. They all had trust in Zola’s algorithm. And in Tony Stark’s weapon systems.

“That’s far enough,” a vaguely familiar voice said. “One more step, Stark, and I’ll cut his fucking throat. I told Pierce not to trust you.”

Tony whirled to see Strike Leader Brock Rumlow, a sharp dagger held at Bucky’s throat. The ambush had taken place so smoothly that Tony hadn’t even heard the man move before he was just… there.

“Rumlow,” Tony said. “What the hell are you doing? I need to fix that faulty relay blade, or this flight is going to be extremely short and I doubt you’ll enjoy the landing.”

“Go on, try to keep lying,” Rumlow said. He jerked Bucky backward, the knife biting into Bucky’s throat.

Bucky hissed, a gleaming line of blood showing against his pale, cold skin. “Tony--”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Rumlow said, like Bucky had admitted everything in that one word. “Tony. You want him, your pal, your buddy, your _Bucky_? Or do we want to see what’ll happen when I shove this blade right in his ear and scramble that mush-mind of his one last time?”

Damn it, _damn_ it, they were _so fucking close_. “There’s no need to be gruesome,” Tony said carefully, playing for time. Time they didn’t _have_. The carrier was ascending steadily; soon it would be too late. “Just... put the knife away.”

“You know, I don’t think I will,” Rumlow said. “You want to see how pretty your boy is with half his face on the floor?”

Bucky was moving, slowly, almost undetectably, his face unafraid, hand sliding back. Not reaching for the knife, but--

\--there was an open spot, on the side of Rumlow’s uniform, where his shirt had come untucked, baring a strip of skin no wider than a finger.

Tony dropped the end of Bucky’s leash and held up his hands, showing them empty. “I’m not moving,” he pointed out. “You tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’m not resisting, here.”

“I want you to tell me what the plan is,” Rumlow said. “They deserve to die. It’ll be quick, painless. No fear. Not like-- not like what they did. Not like how they did it. What crusade are you fighting for, Stark? This is about our very right to survive _as a species_.” Bucky moved another half an inch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said. “I came in here to fix the relay blade.”

“What’s the fucking plan?” Rumlow was furious, all but foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

“I’m so sorry they hurt you,” Bucky said, and then his hand was on that patch of skin, and his power flared to life. Wisps of fog rose off Bucky’s body, like he had turned suddenly into dry ice, his eyes glowing deep and eerie blue. “But that doesn’t give you the right--”

Rumlow’s eyes widened, and Tony could practically _see_ the gears of his mind lock into place. His hand clenched tighter on the knife. Tony leapt toward him, grabbing for Rumlow’s arm.

Bucky turned in Rumlow’s grasp, the knife skating across his skin, but only just-- Tony snagged Rumlow’s sleeve, yanking his arm back, and Bucky--

\--touched Rumlow’s face, unprotected, letting everything flow out. Taking Rumlow’s pain, taking his memory, his guilt, his-- everything.

It seemed to take hours, or days, or mere seconds.

But then Rumlow blinked. “Who-- what happened? Who… am I? Who are you?”

Bucky pressed his hand against the bleeding wound on his throat, the blood welling through his fingers. “Your name is Brock,” Bucky told him, gently. “You’re a friend. You’ve been hurt, but we’re going to help you--”

He barely finished the sentence before he swooned, nearly fainting into Rumlow’s arms.

“Bucky!” Tony grabbed for him. “Oh, god, let me--” His watch vibrated against his skin, an urgent reminder that time was running out. Tony fisted Rumlow’s shirt. “You stay right here with him,” he growled. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Of course not,” Rumlow said, and he started fumbling in his pack for first aid supplies. “I’ll stay with him. He’s my friend.”

Tony hesitated, then cursed and ran for the servers. Seconds mattered, now, if they were to have any hope at all of escaping the destruction. More than half his mind was on Bucky, but at least his fingers knew the code to release the blade rack. He fumbled in his belt for the replacement blade.

A loud whine filled the air, a high-pitched, nearly subaudible sound that made his teeth ache: the weapons were charging. Dimly, he imagined he could feel the tiny shifts and clicks of each system locking onto its targets.

“Damn it, come on, come _on_!” The targeting blade was wedged in tightly, and Tony’s hands were slippery, palms sweating with the tension. He wiped them impatiently on his shirt and tugged again. The blade popped free with a loud _click_ , and Tony tossed it away.

The whine of the charging weapons was higher-pitched now, louder. Reaching peak charge.

Tony shoved the replacement blade home and slammed the rack back into position. He didn’t wait to see what would happen. He turned and ran back past Rumlow. “Come on! Bring him!” he commanded. His mind was already tracing the available exit options, seeking the fastest. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Rumlow was obeying.

He didn’t want to escape, if Bucky didn’t come with him.

Rumlow was strong, tough, even in this confused, almost childlike state. He’d lifted Bucky up, cradling him against a powerful chest, arms held protectively around Bucky. Bucky had a hand pressing the pad of bandages at his throat, and the pristine white was slowly turning red. “I have him, sir,” Rumlow said.

“Good. Stay close to me,” Tony snapped. “Don’t stop for anything or anyone.” He wanted to touch Bucky, to offer reassurance. They didn’t have time. Tony ran.

There was an emergency escape hatch at the end of the hall. It wasn’t a particularly gentle route, and there would still be danger, with the helicarriers above them, but they had no time to finesse out one of the smaller planes or emergency gliders. Tony all but slammed into the hatch and grabbed at the emergency lever. “Parachutes,” he said, pointing at the door that hid the rack of pre-packed dummy chutes.

Rumlow sat Bucky down in one of the jump-seats. “Sir, I don’t think-- I’ll have to jump with him. Pull his chute, push away, and then pull my own. He’s hurt pretty bad.”

“You know how to do it?” Tony barely waited for Rumlow’s nod. “Then do it. Get your chute on, I’ll help with his.”

He grabbed at the pack Rumlow handed him and began strapping it onto Bucky. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry, this is going to be ugly.”

“Get yourself ready,” Rumlow snapped, practically throwing the other chute at him. “I got this, I got this--”

The weapons spun to life, and the whole world stood still for just a second--

The helicarrier erupted into weapons’ fire and screaming--

“Go, go, go!” Rumlow grabbed Bucky, checked his chute, and fell backward out of the escape hatch, Bucky held loose in his grasp.

Tony stumbled on the threshold as another explosion rocked the ship and tumbled out into the air instead of taking a controlled jump. The world spun crazily around him, wind ripping at his clothes. It pulled one of his shoes clean off. He managed to spread out his arms to slow his fall and stop the crazy tumble. Below him, he saw a parachute pop open, and then a dark shape -- Rumlow -- pushing free, falling past. Tony groped for his own ripcord and yanked at it.

It took two hard yanks, but then his parachute rustled open and yanked him vertical, slowing his drop. He glanced up at it, but looking up at it made him dizzy, so he went back to looking down. A little ways away, a third chute opened. Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about Rumlow’s survival, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it right now. He fixed his eyes on Bucky’s chute, and tried to swim through the air to stay close by.

Bucky didn’t seem to be more than barely clinging to awareness, unable to direct his descent. On the plus side, he landed in the water under the launch site.

On the bad side, he’d landed in the _water_.

Tony wasn’t sure what happened then, except Rumlow’s chute peeled away and the man dove into the water after Bucky.

The ground came up very fast, all things considered.

And it fucking hurt when Tony landed, every single bone in his body protesting for a moment that he’d broken them to bits.

All the air went out of his lungs and his eyeballs felt like they’d popped.

The chute glided down to surround him in white nylon.

For a long moment, Tony was physically incapable of doing anything but gasping for breath. Everything hurt, _everything_. He lifted an arm to try to pull the parachute off him, and even that hurt. But Bucky was still out there. He dragged his way free of the parachute and rolled over to look toward the water. He didn’t see anything. He climbed to his knees, and then to his feet, letting out a soft whimpering gasp at the red-hot lance of pain that shot up his leg through his ankle. Sprained, maybe broken.

_Later_. He limped as fast as he could toward the water’s edge. “Bucky!”

By the time he got there, Rumlow had dragged them both to the shore. He was on his hands and knees, coughing river water onto the sand. “He’s alive, sir,” Rumlow managed. “We… we need a doctor--” He stopped, looking up in awe as the helicarrier slowly fell out of the sky. “Jesus.”

As if Rumlow had summoned it, an emergency services vehicle pulled up, sirens blaring, lights flashing. The back of the van opened up and a thin woman jumped out, wearing a cap and a too-large jumpsuit, hitting the pavement just as the vehicle shut down. The sudden silence was almost deafening.

“You boys need a lift?” Natasha Romanov grinned at them.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Tony said. He helped Rumlow carry Bucky into the back of the van, then dragged himself in after.

Once they were all in the back and secure, Nat banged on the side of the van. “Drive like you stole it, Steve,” she said.

“I _did_ steal it,” Steve protested.

“Figure out how to turn on the sirens,” Tony said. “After all that, it’s the best camouflage we’ve got. You know a good, discreet doctor who’ll take us in?”

“I know a school teacher,” Nat said. “He’s a doctor. Sort of.”

“Xavier doesn’t count,” Steve said, “but he’ll be able to help us. Hang on. I never actually got a driver’s license.”

 


	6. Epilogue

Charles Xavier was the very example of revolution within the system.

He had an enormous mansion in upstate New York, with elegant lawns and a ridiculously grandiose reputation for being an exclusive school for gifted children. Which they absolutely were.

Tony had never seen so many mutants -- happy, healthy, free -- in one place. The students were mutants, the staff were mutants. And they were right out there, learning to control their abilities right alongside history classes and algebra.

When Tony asked him if he was worried that the law would come for his kids, Xavier looked at him. “When I consider that possibility, I feel a great swell of pity for any idiot coming here, looking for trouble, because I can assure you, Mr. Stark, they will find it.”

Tony looked past Xavier to where a girl less than half his age was making complicated patterns of fire in midair. “I can believe that.” He took a breath and focused on Xavier again. “Can you -- will you -- help us?” They’d told Xavier the whole story -- the plan, Pierce, their sabotage, the escape. They’d even sketched in Rumlow’s situation, because they had no idea when -- or even _if_ \-- the man’s memories would return.

“I can be of some aid,” Xavier said. “Healing your hurts, giving you sanctuary for a time. Depending on how the world responds to the events of the last few days, we might all be in the very same boat. Best to row together.”

He sighed, steepling his fingers together. “I think it best that you leave Mr. Rumlow with us. As a telepath, I will be able to detect his thoughts. And for the time being, what better way to gain some redemption for his acts of evil, than by helping those he’s done so much harm to? It isn’t often we’re given a second chance.”

“If you think it’s safe,” Tony said, “then I’ll be happy to leave him with you. I certainly don’t want him.” He looked off to the side, where Steve and Nat had taken Rumlow to watch a gaggle of teenagers who were showing off their abilities while Tony explained what had happened out of Rumlow’s hearing. Rumlow’s expression as he watched the children betrayed a sort of startled wonder. “I don’t know exactly what Bucky did to him, and I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.”

“Well, it’s an interesting philosophical question-- are we the sum of our experiences? Or are we intrinsically good, or evil? I’ll give it some thought, and observation. Let you know our progress.” He turned, glancing over his shoulder. “But I won’t have your attention much longer-- he’s coming out to see you.”

It was another few moments before Bucky made an appearance. The house really was just that enormous. But he made his way toward them, wearing a red and blue bathrobe, his feet bare on the green lawns of Xavier’s estate, moving slowly, but steadily. He was healing. He was _getting better_.

Tony reached out a hand as Bucky drew closer, relieved to feel Bucky’s cool touch, the way Bucky’s fingers curled around his. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone stabbed me,” Bucky said, the side of his mouth quirking up. Obviously, joking. “But it’s all right. He didn’t mean it. A little sore. And the nurse won’t let me eat anything I have to chew.”

“You had some damage to the muscles in your throat,” Xavier said. “Let them heal. There will time for pizza and soba later. You have, indeed, all the time in the world.”

Tony pulled Bucky close enough to slide an arm around his waist. “We’ll make you some delicious smoothies,” he promised. “Whatever you want. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

Bucky sneaked a shy look at Xavier, then, with the air of someone who was positive that there were no private conversations on that campus, he confided to Tony, “She did say we could share a room tonight. _To rest_.”

Tony pretended like he couldn’t feel the tips of his ears burning. “I’m glad. I don’t think I’ll be able to let you out of my sight for a few days.”

Tony almost didn’t notice when Xavier gave a knowing smile and used his hover-chair to float away. Later, when he had more time, Tony might ask to look at the mechanism, to figure out a way to utilize that tech, or improve it. But Xavier was right. They had all the time in the world, now.

Eventually, the world would intrude, pushy demanding bitch that she was. Questions would be asked, and Tony could either be the one answering them, or he would have to live with the answers someone else gave.

Pierce was still holding his position. Grudgingly, with both hands, but there were rumors of ethics committee investigations.

Public sentiment was… shifting. But it wasn’t assured. Not yet.

If Hydra was as smart as Tony thought they were, they’d be manufacturing an anti-mutant outrage, even now.

Cut off one head, as the saying went.

Stamping them out… that could be the work of a lifetime.

“We have our whole lives,” Bucky said, lacing their fingers together, answering Tony’s thoughts as if he plucked them from the air.

“As long as I have you,” Tony said, “then I’m looking forward to it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for Dark Enchantments!
> 
> Starting next Sunday, we'll be continuing tisfan's [Lightning in a Bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967127), featuring tiny!dragon!Tony and knight!Bucky.


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